Another Coraline
by Tobu Ishi
Summary: It was hard enough trying to figure out who she was and what she wanted-any eighteen-year-old would agree. But Coraline wasn't any eighteen-year-old, and the Other World wasn't about to let her go that easily. Sequel fic, 7 years post-film, mild C/W.
1. Prologue

**Another Coraline**_  
a fanfiction_

_-  
_

**Prologue**

-

It is important, when reading this story, to remember that a spider cannot talk. Shooting the messenger is never fair, but even less fair is the condemnation of a witness quite unable to carry a message.

Bear in mind, then, that it was entirely not the spider's fault. It was an early-spring spider, without much new insect life to choose from, and it had meandered very innocently among the roots of the cherry trees for most of the night before it decided to strike out across the dusty clearing in search of prey.

It tiptoed over the gray dirt in the moonlight, picking up each delicate leg with great care. Giving a wide berth to the threatening swell of a mushroom, it tapped its graceful way onward.

It thought nothing suspicious of the hole. Spiders are fond of holes, and this spider was no exception. How much the better, then, when it crawled inside and found an inverted world of dark and damp, a shaft dug years ago by well-meaning human hands, pressed all about with mud and sunk deep into the layers of the earth.

There were plenty of roots and stones studding the walls of the well, and the spider made expert use of them. It was nearly to the bottom before it hesitated. There was water at the bottom, brackish stuff, dangerous to any insect and black with shadows. It lapped gently at the crumbling walls, and at the muddy, blackened mass sprawled in the center of the pit.

The spider hesitated. It edged one leg back, then another, poised for flight.

And the mass moved.

It twitched, and extended one spindly, dripping limb. Lifted itself up, trembling, and dragged itself just a little closer to the wet mud of the wall.

The spider fled, as any sensible arachnid would, back up through the tangled roots and stones to the dry, safe world outside.

It saw nothing of what followed, of course, but the reader must remember that it should not be blamed.

-


	2. Chapter 1

**Another Coraline**_  
a fanfiction_

_-  
_

**Chapter 1**

-

Adding a window seat to her room had been a stroke of genius, Coraline decided. It was a cozy spot to sit and read a book, but it was still big enough to accommodate her skinny frame _and _the huge knitted comforter Miss Spink had given her for her sixteenth birthday if she bunched them both up into a ball. For that matter, it gave her great access to the fogged-up window.

Carefully, she traced out a new entry at the bottom of her "con" list.

_No more window seat._

Her fingertip squeaked against the wet glass, and she flicked water off it as she sat back to survey her work. The lists stretched from the highest she could reach, almost down to the wooden sill. Outside, the Oregon rain beat loudly against the panes.

"I'm running out of window," she muttered. A thought occurred, and she leaned over to the "pro" list.

_Bigger windows in my dorm? _No, that was only speculation. She smeared a finger through it, leaving a wobbly worm of clean glass behind.

"Coraline!"

The shout from downstairs pierced the quiet room. Coraline's jerk of surprise dragged her finger halfway across the pane, spoiling two "pro"s and a "con".

"Coraline Jones! There's mail for you!"

The front door slammed, and Coraline heard the echo of footsteps rushing across the kitchen floor. She sighed, and slapped both hands against the window panes, dragging them straight down through her lists to obliterate the dripping, foggy letters.

Then she swung her bare feet onto the carpet and stalked for the stairs with the haughty dignity of a queen. The knitted throw trailed along the floor behind her.

Out of habit, she hopped down the stairs two and three at a time, careful not to land on the hem of her makeshift cloak. The door to her father's office didn't quite muffle the excited conversation going on inside. Coraline wrinkled her nose and headed into the kitchen.

It wasn't hard to spot the reason for all the commotion. A fat, overstuffed manila envelope lay in the middle of the otherwise bare kitchen table. Coraline crossed to it and picked it up, weighing it in both hands. Turning it over, she read the return address and traced a finger around the boldface logo on the mailing label.

Then, making up her mind, she tucked the envelope under her arm and shrugged off the blanket, leaving it in a heap on the floor. Her swampers were waiting by the front door, and she stepped into them hurriedly, grabbing her raincoat and an umbrella from the battered old can on the porch.

"I'm going out!" she shouted over her shoulder, and slammed the door behind her.

* * *

The rain hammered on her umbrella as soon as she snapped it open, drowning out her mother's calls after her through the kitchen window. Coraline raised an arm and waved, but kept trotting down the drive.

It wasn't a particularly long walk into town. Coraline shoved the envelope under her raincoat to keep it dry and meandered down the road at her own pace, cutting across a few weedy parking lots, splashing through puddles, and picking her way over the broken pavement in the alley behind the automotive shop.

Navigating the gap in the fence behind the garage was second nature by now. She furled her umbrella and edged through sideways, clutching the envelope protectively to her chest.

In the yard, a man in a stained gray coverall was dragging a tire off a heap of scrap. He spotted her and waved. "Hello, Coraline!"

"Hey, Henry!" she shouted back. The ground was half-flooded with mud puddles. She edged around the worst of them, dodging what was left of a stripped-down truck. "Where's—"

"Lovat's inside," Henry called, grunting under the weight of the tire. "We've got a tight lineup today. Try not to borrow him for too long, hey?"

Coraline stuck out her tongue at him. He laughed and heaved the tire onto a cart, then waved her inside.

"Go on, kiddo. Tell him he's got ten minutes or it comes out of his lunch."

She trotted inside, dripping a trail of rainwater on the cement floor behind her.

It wasn't especially hard to find Wybie. The steel-toed boots, for one thing, were impossible to miss, sticking out from under a car halfway across the garage. For another thing, the bangings and mutterings issuing from under the car were audible even over the drumming of the rain on the roof. Coraline smiled. She hung her umbrella on the doorknob, and strolled leisurely over.

"Reinventing the wheel?" she said, bending down to peer under the chassis.

Battered gloves grasped the edge of the bumper, and Wybie hauled himself out with a clatter of dolly wheels, grinning broadly up at her.

"Jonesy! I thought Mr. Bard told you to quit sneaking around here!"

"Henry likes me," Coraline retorted, nudging him in the side with her boot. "He thinks I'm a good influence."

Wybie snorted. "Shows what he knows."

"Oh, get up," Coraline said, offering him a hand. "I've got to talk to you."

He took her hand obligingly, greasy gloves and all. Coraline braced herself and dragged him to his feet. He'd lost most of his puppy fat over the years, but his face was still comfortably round and given to shy smiles, and his posture just about as awful as ever.

"You seriously need to lose some weight, Wybie," she teased him, pulling him along by the arm. He stumbled in her wake, but didn't bother protesting—after seven years, he was quite used to being manhandled.

"Hey, are you kidding? This is all muscle." He flexed his free arm at her, and Coraline snorted. Then they were out the front door, and the first cold drops of rain struck her face. She laughed and spun out into it, letting go of Wybie to throw her arms wide and embrace the wet sky.

Standing in the doorway, Wybie watched her with a smile. "You never change, do you?" he said.

Coraline's feet faltered. Twirling to a stop, she opened her eyes. The parking lot was empty and gray, rain blowing across it in misty sheets.

"I wish," she said.

Trudging back to him, she leaned against the doorframe and crossed her arms. "So, how's the job going, part-timer?"

"Uh…okay, I guess," he shrugged. "Mr. Bard says he'd pay me full-time next year if I'm still around, but I told him Grandma'd throw a fit." Wybie adjusted his coverall cuffs, a little self-consciously, and looked up at her. "So…what's the big news, Jonesy?"

Coraline took a breath. "Well…I got a letter from Metro."

Wybie opened his mouth, then closed it again.

"Well?" he said, after a moment. "Fat or thin?"

Uncrossing her arms, she let the envelope fall into her hands and held it out. "Morbid," she said, with a faint quirk of a smile.

Wybie whistled, taking it from her to heft the weight of it. "Man. That's a lot of paperwork." Raindrops glistened on his dark curls as he handed it back, before it could get too wet. "So…you're in, huh?"

"I guess," Coraline said, blankly.

Wybie blinked. "That's, uh…that's great, Jonesy," he said, trying for a smile. "I mean…that's the school you wanted, right?"

"Well…yeah," Coraline said. She'd been hoping for more of a reaction, but Wybie was being unusually hard to read. "So-o-o…" she said, stretching out the syllable as long as she could. "What do you think I should do?"

Wybie tilted his head. "Why are you asking me?"

"What's _that _supposed to mean?"

He shrugged. "Well, you're just gonna do whatever you want anyway, right? So why bother asking?"

Coraline stamped her foot, shocked and a little hurt. "Hey, that's not true! I listen to you!"

"Name one time you've ever not done something because I said it was a bad idea," he challenged her.

Coraline thought back. And then back some more. "I quit jumping on the well," she said, finally.

Wybie groaned. "Jonesy, you stomp on the well every time we check the lid," he pointed out.

"But I stopped jumping on it!" she insisted. "Anyway, so do you!"

"Because you always do it first!"

"You know what?" Coraline snapped. "Forget I asked!" How could he accuse her of not caring what he thought? "I bet you'd have a _great _opinion for me if you could go home and ask your grandma first!" she scoffed.

"What's she got to do with it?"

"All you _ever _do is what she says." Coraline rolled her eyes. "I bet you're going to that community college because she said it was a good idea."

Wybie's gaze dropped uncomfortably to his boots. "Well, yeah," he admitted. "But…we can't really afford a big school right now. I can transfer my credits—"

Coraline's temper flared. "Yeah, well, I'm going to a _real _school!" she snapped.

Shock brought Wybie's chin up, followed by embarrassment and anger. "Fine!" he snapped back, startling her. "Do what you want! I think Metro is the perfect school for you and you should definitely go there and it doesn't bug me at all! That's what you want me to say, right? So go!" He made a shooing gesture with one arm. "Move five states away, why should I care?"

"Why _should _you?"

"I don't know, you tell me!"

Coraline glared. "What, like your grandma?"

"I—what?" Wybie fumbled. "No! I don't—"

"You know, maybe I would listen to you if you ever had anything to say!" Coraline imitated a flapping mouth with one hand. "You talk and talk and _talk_, Wybie, but you never say anything!"

"What are you still hanging around with me for, then?" Wybie yanked the door open and took a step inside. He waved his other arm at her. "Don't you have letters to mail? Metro's waiting!"

"I'm glad somebody is!" Coraline cried. "It's not like anybody around here would miss me!" She shoved herself away from the wall and stomped off across the parking lot, clutching the envelope tightly to her heart.

Wybie watched her go, the anger in his eyes fading wistfully away. His shoulders slumped as the bright yellow raincoat disappeared around the corner and into the rain.

"Idiot," he muttered to himself, rubbing his temple, and slouched back inside.

* * *

The trouble with walking home angry was that you forgot to think. Coraline didn't realize until she started to take off her coat that she'd neglected to put the envelope back under her jacket. Wearily, she peeled each soggy sheet away from its fellows and spread them out on the table to dry.

Her father bustled around the kitchen, mixing up dinner and cheerfully humming to himself.

"Spaghetti is from China, but Italians make it best…ants can make an anthill, and monkeys make a mess…!"

The whistle of the teakettle split the air. Coraline clapped her hands over her ears and grimaced. A few drops splashed onto the stovetop with violent hisses.

"Whoops!" said her father, and snatched for the kettle, lifting it quickly off the burner before it could boil over. "Close one," he chuckled. "So, what'll it be, college girl? Tea? Coffee? Apple cider?"

Coraline moaned and thumped her forehead down on the table.

Charlie Jones considered that and smiled, wryly. "Coffee it is, then. What's wrong, pumpkin?" he asked, pouring out steaming water into three mugs.

"I don't know," Coraline mumbled against the linoleum. Her breath fluttered the damp layers of paperwork. "Everything."

Her father stood for a moment, looking at her, then set the kettle down carefully on a trivet and pulled up a chair next to his daughter. He gave her stubby ponytail a playful, gentle tug. "Everything? That's a lot of trouble for just one Coraline. You want to talk about it?"

"Not really," Coraline muttered.

"Oh." After a moment of quiet sitting, he got up and went to fetch the coffee. Coraline hauled herself upright with a groan, burying both hands in her hair.

"It's just, this whole college thing, and—and being so far away, and I'm not going to know my way around or anybody, and I just want some time to think but Mom's all, _how's the application going, Coraline? I can proofread your essay, Coraline! You got a letter, Coraline! You'd_ _better get your forms in A.S.A.P., Coraline Jones, or you can kiss a scholarship goodbye! _Gah!" She ground her teeth. "And then today, Wybie starts in—"

"Wybie?" her father said, hiding a smile as he set her coffee down in front of her. "What's he got to do with it?"

"That's what I'd like to know!" Coraline pulled at her bangs with both hands. "Every time I try to talk about school, he clams right up! And today, I go tell him I got accepted, right? And he acts like I'm…like I'm some kind of leper!"

"That bad, huh?"

"Well…" Coraline released her hair, picked up the hot mug and gingerly sipped the contents. Dad's instant coffee. Blech. She forced down a swallow—it was warm, anyway. "Maybe not quite that bad. But he sure wasn't happy for me, I can tell you that much."

"Maybe he's having trouble showing it," her father suggested. Stirring busily at his own coffee with a spoon, he added, "You two have been friends for a long time. I'd be surprised if he didn't miss you."

Coraline stared into the depths of her mug. Her own face stared back, distorted and dark. After some of the things she'd just said to him, it wouldn't surprise her much at all. "I'm gonna miss him, too," she mumbled. Her mouth felt bitter and dry—she put the mug down and pushed it away. "And you, and Mom, and the kids at school, and—and Miss Spink and Miss Forcible…"

Darn it, why were her eyes tearing over? Why now? Why over the batty downstairs neighbors and a state full of giant slugs and rain, rain, rain? Coraline swiped at her nose with the back of her hand, hunkering down in her chair.

"Alright, what's for dinner?"

The front door banged open, and Mel Jones swept into the kitchen, shrugging out of her coat. Spotting the remaining mug on the counter, she made a beeline for it.

"Coffee! Fantastic, that is _exactly _what I needed." Taking a gulp, she made a face, then knocked back another for good measure and went to her daughter. "How's my girl?"

"Welcome home, Mom," Coraline muttered into her hands.

Her mother leaned over her shoulder, surveying the scattered papers on the table. "Do my eyes deceive me? You actually got started on your paperwork! Coraline, I am so proud of—"

Snatching up a paper with her free hand, she flinched, the corners of her mouth turning sharply down. "These are soaking wet! Coraline, what on earth?"

"I didn't mean to!" Coraline cried. "I just forgot my umbrella at Bard's Autos, and—"

"Is that where you ran off to?" her mother said, her eyes narrowing. She crossed her arms. "You know, Mr. Bard called me the other day, and—"

"He doesn't care if I visit!" Coraline interrupted her, exasperated. "He told me himself, Mom! As long as I stay out of the way—"

"Well, I'm still not comfortable with you wandering around all those power tools," her mother grumbled, delicately paging through the damp paperwork. Coraline groaned.

"Mom, I'm not ten years old," she said. "I'm going to college next fall, remember?"

"Well, you're not going anywhere if you don't get these forms in," her mother said, raising an eyebrow at her. "You know, Coraline, if you want any chance at a scholarship…"

"Geez!" Coraline yelled, throwing up her arms. "I get it, okay? Paperwork, good! Procrastination, bad! Hey, if you want me gone so much, maybe _you _can do my paperwork! God!" She shoved herself away from the table, chair legs scraping loudly. Pausing just long enough to snatch up her coffee mug, she stormed out of the room and up the stairs. The kitchen door swung shut behind her.

Mel Jones stared after her. "What was _that _about?" she asked her husband.

Charlie sighed. "Separation anxiety…I think. Drink your mud while it's hot, Boss. You can try again tomorrow."

* * *

Coraline thumped down her mug on the bedside table and flung herself across her bed, hard enough to make the springs creak. Burying her head in her arms, she let out an exasperated growl. What was wrong with everyone? Wasn't there one person who'd be sorry to see her go?

Something rapped lightly on the window, and Coraline propped herself up on her elbows, turning to look.

"Aha! Hello, Coraline!"

Skinny arms waved from outside the window, and an upside-down face beamed in at her through the foggy glass and a thatch of wiry whiskers. Coraline cracked a smile and climbed off the bed. Her neighbor's acrobatic habits had gotten a little unsettling as she grew, but they'd come to an understanding over a set of nice, thick curtains.

"Hey, Mr. B," she said, hauling the old window up with some effort. Cool wind blew in, but the rain had slacked off. "What's up?"

"Not so much, not so much," Mr. Bobinsky said, kicking away from the wall to hang from the sill by his fingertips, and commencing a set of chin-ups as he spoke. "_Raz, dva, tree…_I hope I am not interrupting a, how you say…a naptime?"

Coraline shook her head. "No, I was just thinking." She leaned out the window to peer down at him. "How's the Little B doing?"

With a grunt of effort, Mr. Bobinsky pulled himself up to grin at her, nose-to-nose. His whiskery face glowed with pride.

"He kicks, Coraline! He kicks like horse!" he jubilated. "Mrs. B, she says to me, 'Oh, Mr. B, truly this child, he is a Bobinsky!'"

Coraline covered a giggle with her hand. A few years back, Mr. Bobinsky had amazed the entire Pink Palace by presenting them with not a mouse circus, but a Mrs. Bobinsky: a skinny, bony-elbowed acquaintance from the old country. According to them, she'd been a prima ballerina once, but her most impressive feats over the years had been imposing cozy domesticity on the shambles of the upstairs apartment and unleashing such a stream of Russian profanity upon the Misses Spink and Forcible for venturing out of the basement in their robes and curlers that she'd almost completely broken them of the habit.

Sometime this summer, formidable Mrs. B was due to astonish the Palace again, this time as a mother. Coraline was a little wary of the woman, who made amazing pancakes but shouted and threw things when her English wasn't up to expressing her opinions. Still, she couldn't help being eagerly curious about how a baby Bobinsky would look.

Not that she'd get to spend much time with him—or her. By the time she came home for Christmas, the Little B would be crawling. Coraline sighed, and propped her chin in her hands.

"_Raz, dva, tree…_" Mr. Bobinsky finished his set, and flipped nimbly up, crouching on the windowsill. "But, Coraline, you do not look happy. What is wrong?"

Coraline traced a circle on the sill with one finger. "Nothing, really," she admitted. "Just…thinking about Little B. He's gonna grow up fast, isn't he?"

Mr. Bobinsky beamed. "Fast, yes! Fast, and big, and strongest child in country!" He paused. "But, why this is problem?"

"I just…wish I could be there to see it," Coraline said.

Her neighbor tilted his head, frowning. Then his face cleared. "Aha! I see problem," he declared. "Is very simple, Coraline. Leetle B is to be here, and you, you will be far away, yes?"

Coraline sighed. "Maybe. I haven't decided yet."

"Aah, but always in here!" Mr. Bobinsky slapped a hand against his chest, making his medal jingle. "Never will you leave our hearts. I tell my Leetle B about you, Coraline."

It was cold comfort. What good was being 'in people's hearts', anyway? She wanted to be the Little B's friend, not his bedtime story.

"Thanks, Mr. B," she mumbled, and forced a smile. "I'll see you later, 'kay?"

Mr. Bobinsky sketched her a salute. "_Do svidaniya, _Coraline! And hey—don't worry!" He sprang up from his crouch, grabbing for the gutters outside, and with a few scuffling, long-legged kicks, he vanished from sight.

Coraline crossed back to her bed, flopping down listlessly. "Easy for you to say," she muttered, and shut her eyes. She felt so…tired. It wouldn't hurt to relax a while, would it?

Of course not. She sighed, and let her worries slide away…

* * *

Shadows lay thick around her bedroom. Coraline stirred, and stretched sore muscles, sleepily trying to remember what had woken her.

"Ew," she muttered, plucking at her sleeve. Sleeping in her clothes. No wonder she felt sore. According to the clock, it was past ten already—glancing at the door, she saw a plate of dinner had been left inside to get cold. Wonderful. And she'd drooled on the comforter…

Something tapped lightly at the window. Coraline frowned, and sat up.

"Mr. B?" she said.

No answer. Carefully, she climbed out of bed and padded across the floor, towards the dark window. "Hello? Is anybody there?"

Something smacked against the glass, inches from her face. Coraline leaped back with a shriek. Wildly, she looked around the room for something she could use as a weapon—

The voice outside was muffled, but familiar. "Jonesy?"

Coraline let out an exasperated groan. "Oh, great."

Another stick bounced off the window. Stomping over, Coraline heaved it open, just in time for a twig to sail through. She dodged it, barely.

"Would you cut that out? Geez!"

Wybie scuffed one steel-toed boot in the driveway gravel. "Uh…hey, Jo—er, Coraline," he said, and made a valiant attempt at a smile. "You okay? You, uh…I heard a yell."

"I was sleeping," Coraline said, flatly. "And then _somebody _threw a stick at my head."

"Oh." Wybie swallowed. "Sorry about that."

"What do you want, anyway?" Coraline knew she was picking another fight, but she couldn't seem to shut up. Why wasn't he mad at her? It would be so much easier if he was here to yell at her for being crazy.

He tilted his head, quizzically. "Is, uh…is this a bad time? You don't seem like you're in a…talking mood. I mean, maybe I'm reading you wrong, but, look, you don't have to talk to me if you don't want, I know you're probably busy with forms and stuff—"

"Gahh!" Coraline ducked back inside and slammed the window.

Wybie froze, one hand held up in mid-gesture. "Or, maybe not."

The window made no reply. After a moment, he stooped for another twig and took careful aim. It ricocheted off the glass, and the window shot open.

"What?" Coraline snapped, sticking her head out.

Wybie coughed. "I just wanted to say, um…that it's your call. Not mine."

She blinked. "Huh?"

"About…you know, the school thing," he said, twisting at his gloves without looking at her. "I mean, I was thinking, and I know I said it pretty badly, today…but Metro's a good school. And you'd do great there. So…you should go wherever you want."

Coraline's stomach sank. She backed a step away from the window, then another.

"Well?" He was looking up at her now, with his head still tilted to one side. His expression was nervous, but his dear, daft posture was as familiar as her own face in the mirror. "What're you gonna do?"

"I wish I knew," Coraline said, softly. She reached out and slid the window shut, then pulled the curtain across it and turned away.

"Hey! Jonesy? Hello?"

She waited, her back turned to the curtains, but no more thrown projectiles rattled against the window. After a while, she heard the sputtering roar of his bike motor start up, then fade into the distance. Coraline sighed, wrapping her arms around herself. The room felt colder, all of a sudden.

Shaking her head, she went to fetch her flannel pajamas. It didn't take long to change, and then she crawled into bed, dragging the covers over her head.

Blocking out the world didn't block out the turmoil in her mind. It seemed like everybody, even Wybie, thought she should be sallying out into the world, kicking butt and taking names and sparing not a thought for the places and people she was leaving.

Coraline squeezed her eyes shut and imagined moving a thousand miles away. Leaving behind the Pink Palace, escaping her mother's warm arms and nagging reminders. Never having to put up with her father's dumb little songs and awful cooking. Making new friends, other serious students like her, instead of hunting frogs down at the creek with Wybie Lovat, cracking lame jokes and watching his shy, dorky smile light up his eyes.

A sharp pain pierced her stomach, and Coraline pushed the images away, balling up under the covers with a whimper. Wasn't she supposed to be happy about going out on her own? Was something wrong with her?

Growling, she kicked the covers away, struggling out of bed. She wasn't getting any sleep this way. Fresh air and a walk in the garden: that might help, at least.

She fetched an old sweater out of the closet. It was a bulky thing too long in the arms, and she pulled it on over her pajamas, stepping carefully over the cold plate of dinner in the doorway. Her bare feet made hardly a sound on the carpet as she hopped down the stairs, but she still tiptoed past her parents' room. The last thing she wanted to deal with was a redux of maternal wrath.

Her swampers sat peacefully by the front door, caked in dry mud. Coraline stepped into them, and quietly slipped outside.

The night air was cool, fluttering through her hair as she walked down the front steps. Coraline took a deep breath of it, feeling like a fish in the clear sea. The clouds were clearing away, leaving broad swathes of twinkling sky. She closed her eyes and tilted her face up to catch the starlight with a smile.

A soft yowl caught her attention, and she looked around and spotted Wybie's old stray, weaving himself around the posts of the porch. It had to be more than ten years old by now, but as far as Coraline could see, it was just as skinny, mangy, and ageless now as it had been when she moved in.

"Hello, Cat," she said, waving an arm at him. The sleeve of her sweater flopped loosely. "Come to give me some advice? Everybody else is."

The cat cocked its head, and meowed. Coraline snorted.

"Yeah, I know. You're a cat. What do you know about colleges?" She shoved the trailing sweater sleeves up her arms and locked her fingers together behind her head, looking up at the sky. A sliver of white moon glowed among the clouds.

"You probably know more than I do," she admitted. "I know there's a whole world out there, and I want to explore it—I really do! There's just so much I'd be leaving behind…"

With a swish of its tail, the cat leapt up onto the porch railing. It hopped from there to the gutter, and trotted away over the roof and out of sight.

"Fair enough," Coraline said, ruefully. "I'd probably bore me too, if I was you."

She wandered down the path and through the garden gate, passing the first few blooming tulips and bending down to touch their petals. Beads of water clung to her fingertips. She wiped them clean on her sweater-front and strolled along the rise and fall of the stairs towards the little bridge, counting the number of steps it took her to climb them. Four less than when they'd first moved here…

Coraline faltered mid-step, one hand on the railing of the bridge. A shiver ran up her spine. Quickly, she whirled around, staring at the moat.

No pumpkins. No brilliant flowers. Nothing.

Coraline let out a shaky breath, then turned away and hurried down the path out of the garden, not looking back. There were some memories she tried not to dwell on, no matter how much she loved her home. Some habits she had never quite broken.

Even if she had long since accepted the presence of that locked door, she still didn't like to sit alone in the living room, or turn her back on that particular wall.

Still shivering, Coraline pulled the sweater a little more closely around her shoulders. The night wind had fallen still. Even the black silhouettes of the trees stood unmoving against the sky.

Padding along the path, Coraline glanced back at the Palace. Her own lit bedroom window winked back at her, golden and bright. One turn around the old well and back, she decided, ought to be enough fresh air for one night. Just the traditional old stroll. The woods were dark and cold, and her warm bed was starting to sound awfully appealing.

The slope of ground under her feet was beginning to level out. Coraline peered ahead through the gloom, and made out that familiar old tree stump, rearing from the dry earth. She smiled a little, remembering.

It had started out as a nervous habit. After what they'd been through, she and Wybie had figured they'd never want to go near the place again, but there was something…uneasy about that well. One August night, after they'd accidentally scared a few years off each other's lives, then calmed down enough to compare excuses for being there after dark, they'd realized they were both coming by every few weeks to poke around. The sheepishness wore off fast; and from then on, there was safety in numbers.

Check the lid for rot. Look for marks in the dirt. Drop a rock down the hole, and listen for a harmless splash. As the years passed and fear faded into memory, it had devolved from a sacred catechism to a simple habit.

They hadn't run through the ritual in a while, come to think of it. These days, they mostly met at the well for the sake of meeting. Talking, swapping stupid jokes, showing off new possessions, making plans for great pizza or bad movies, copying off each others' notes from class…

"Psycho-stalker," Coraline murmured, with a smile. "How did _you _end up being my best friend, anyway?"

Her smile slipped a little, remembering Wybie's hurt expression as she'd shouted out the window at him that evening. She gave her head a shake, and crossed swiftly to the ragged circle of toadstools that marked the spot.

"I'm sorry, Wybie," she whispered. "I guess you'll have to do this by yourself, next time."

Carefully, she stepped over the mushrooms and onto the lid of the well. She lifted one boot and gently struck each board with her heel—they rang out sound and true.

"Check the lid for rot," she muttered. "Done." She made a fist and stuck out one finger, keeping count. Then, bending down a little, she turned in a slow circle to peer at the edges of the lid. Nothing disturbed the earth around the well but her own footprints.

"Look for marks in the dirt. Check-a-roonie." She extended another finger, and knelt to pick up a pebble, holding it over the hole in the lid and letting it drop.

"Listen for the splash…" she whispered, leaning down until her ear nearly touched the lid, and waited.

And waited.

"Huh?" Coraline frowned, sitting up. "That's…weird." She fumbled for another, bigger stone, and dropped it in, listening intently.

Silence.

"What the…"

Had somebody blocked up the hole? Filled it in, after she and Wybie let their old ritual slide?

Getting to her feet, Coraline looked around and spotted a fallen tree near the edge of the clearing. It only took a moment to brace her boot on the trunk and wrench a branch free with a resounding crack. She trotted back to the well, wedging the end of the branch firmly under the edge of the lid.

"Alright, well," she said, sternly. "Let's see what the problem is."

Grabbing the branch in both hands, she levered down, hard. The lid lifted free in a shower of rattling stones and dust, and Coraline dropped the branch to grab it, dragging it out of the way.

Stepping closer to the edge, she leaned over, hands propped on her knees. "Hello?" she called, into the hollow darkness, and her own voice echoed back to her, softly:

"_Hello…?"_

"Did someone fill you up?"

"_Up…?"_

Coraline peered into the deepest shadows of the well, frowning intently. There was definitely _something _reflecting the moonlight down there. Something tiny and round. No, two somethings…

They moved.

With a wild scrabbling and a shower of dislodged stones, a dark and long-limbed shape lunged up out of the abyss. Its clutching fingers closed around Coraline's ankles, squeezing sharp through her clothes, and she screamed and threw herself back, landing in a heap.

"No!"

Coraline struggled wildly; one of her boots slipped off, and she rolled onto her stomach, kicking with her free leg in a desperate frenzy.

"Let me go!" Her bare foot pounded something brittle and cold, once, twice—it jerked, but its grip didn't loosen. She clawed at the ground, reaching out with both hands for something, anything to hold on to, but the damp earth slipped through her fingers, leaving parallel ruts behind as she was dragged inexorably backwards, towards…

"Oh, god," she gasped, as realization struck. "No, _no_, don't—"

As if it had paused only to brace itself, the thing in the well gave a mighty heave, and the world slid out of sight.

Coraline had just enough time to grab helplessly at the air, to feel the wind of her fall and the stinging pain in her suddenly released ankle, to catch a desperate glimpse of a starry patch of sky spinning away, and a dark silhouette against it, leaning down—

She never heard the splash.

-


	3. Chapter 2

**Another Coraline**_  
a fanfiction_

_-  
_

**Chapter 2**

-

The wheels of Wybie's bike bumped and shuddered over the gravel drive, but he hardly noticed. _Take three, _he thought, gripping the handlebars tightly. _Gotta get it right this time…_

The Pink Palace came into view through the trees as he took a wide swerve around the familiar bend in the road. It looked just the same as always…except for one little detail. There was a patrol car parked by the front steps.

Wybie braked hard, then swung off the bike and cut the motor. He walked it quietly around the side yard, among the bushes. He had no beef with the police, but a few of the local cops nursed serious steak buffets about him and his homemade bikes. There was nothing technically illegal about them, but he was still likely to get a lecture if the wrong officer happened to be behind the wheel when Wybie motored by.

As luck would have it, he hadn't gotten far before a woman in a blue uniform let herself out at the front door, climbed into the driver's seat and fired up the patrol car. Wybie pulled his bike a little further behind the safety of a leafless rosebush and watched the taillights vanish into the trees.

Leaving the bike, he sprinted across the lawn and up the front steps to knock. Something was definitely weird today.

Running footsteps sounded inside the house, and the front door was suddenly jerked open. "Cora—"

Mel Jones' face was bright with worry and hope, but her expression faltered and faded at the sight of him. "Oh," she said. "Hi, Wybie."

Wybie gave her an uncertain smile. "Hi, Mrs. Jones," he said.

"Have you seen Coraline?" she asked. Her fingers were knotted nervously up in each other.

"Uh…no?" Wybie said. "I came to see if she's okay, she wasn't in school…"

"I know," Mrs. Jones said. She hesitated, then added absently, "Why don't you c'mon in? I've got the kettle on." She was already turning away. He'd seen her this distracted a few times before, usually when she and Mr. Jones were working through the last week before a deadline, but the lines of stress and fear on her face were new and disturbing. "How's your grandmother?"

"Uh, pretty much the same as always," he said, following her inside. She didn't seem capable of walking at less than a hurried trot, as if she was trying to stay slightly ahead of something. "Mrs. Jones?"

"That's great, that's wonderful. So, coffee or tea?" When she turned around, teabags in one hand and a can of instant coffee in the other, there was a bright smile fixed on her face. Wybie winced. He wasn't a tea fan, but he'd tried the Jones' idea of coffee before.

"Tea's fine," he said, pulling out a chair at the kitchen table. "Mrs. Jones—"

"Tea for two, then," she said, busying herself fetching down cups. "I hope you don't mind it black, we drank all the green last week…" Halfway through pouring the hot water, she stopped as if a thought had occurred, and set down the kettle. "When was the last time you saw her?"

The uneasy feeling in Wybie's stomach congealed. "Not, uh…not since yesterday night?" he said, twisting his gloved hands in the hem of his jacket. "I didn't see her in class today, so I…I came to check if she was sick or something, but none of the teachers knew what was going on and she's not picking up her phone…"

Mrs. Jones had turned back to the tea-pouring, but her hand rested on the handle of the kettle without lifting it. Her shoulders slumped slightly. "She wasn't in her bed this morning," she said. "We…we thought she might have gone to your house, but we called your grandmother..."

"How about the Bobinskies?" Wybie said. "I know she's been—"

"They haven't seen her," Mrs. Jones interrupted, heavily. "Neither have the…ladies downstairs. We called the police, and they…they said not to panic just yet. It's pretty normal for girls her age to sneak out, or even run away for a day or two…"

Wybie blinked. "Wow," he said. "Is that…safe?"

Mrs. Jones slid his mug across the table and sat down next to him. Her head hung as if it was too heavy for her neck.

"Not really," she said, and took a listless sip of her tea—then grimaced, flaring up in frustration. "Why would she do this? She just got into her top school! I thought she'd be excited, not…"

Wybie stared into his tea and gulped. No way it had anything to do with their stupid argument…right?

Mrs. Jones shoved away her mug and stood, pacing towards the window. "I'm getting the neighbors together as soon as Charlie gets home," she said. She was wringing her hands absently again. Wybie suspected his grandma would prescribe chamomile tea and a nice lie-down. Maybe it was just as well Mrs. Lovat didn't get out much these days—he had nothing but the highest respect for Mrs. Jones, but he wouldn't bet a nickel on the chances of anyone trying to administer tea to her in this state. "The police are putting out a report or something, but I think the people who know her best have the best chance of guessing where she'd go."

"I could help," Wybie suggested, raising his hand. If Jonesy was honestly hiding somewhere, he had a few ideas as to where she might be.

Mrs. Jones stopped pacing long enough to give him a warm, genuine smile. "That would be wonderful, Wybie. Oh!" she exclaimed. "In that case, could you do me a favor?"

Wybie nodded solemnly. "Anything you need, Mrs. Jones."

* * *

How, Wybie wondered grimly, did he get himself into these things?

"Miriam!" his hostess shouted, sitting in an armchair that had obviously once been plush. "Where in heaven's name are those cakes?!"

"I haven't seen a snake in years, April!" Miss Forcible bellowed back from the kitchen. "What did the young gentleman say he wanted? Jasmine tea?"

"Yes, I'm asking you!" Miss Spink exclaimed, almost as exasperated as she was hard of hearing. "Our guest has been waiting long enough! He's a growing boy, you know!" Leaning forward, she gave Wybie a conspiratorial wink. "Deaf as a post, you know, the poor old dear. Hasn't an inkling what anybody says anymore."

Wybie was trying not to gawk at her medicine-pink dressing gown. He couldn't remember ever being this pleased to see one of the Misses' old Scotties; the dog drooling all over his boots was giving him a great excuse to look down. "That's, um…that's too bad," he said, lamely. "My grandma says loud music ruins your hearing, actually, I don't know how much research there is on it but she always makes me turn down my stereo—"

"Everything's ready, April!" Miss Forcible sailed into the room like a schooner, preceded by a silver tea-tray and her dressing-gowned bosom, in that order. Wybie gawked helplessly for a moment, then managed to drag his gaze up to the wall behind her. The stuffed dogs were less disturbing. Barely.

Setting the tray on the coffee table, Miss Forcible whisked the silver bell off a tray of cakes with a flourish. "Let there be tea!" She dropped a heavily made-up wink at Wybie and settled herself comfortably at the other end of the sofa. "Now then, what did you say you were here for? It's been such a while since we've had a handsome young thing around the place." She gave a contralto chuckle, and fluffed at the ends of her wig. Wybie squirmed.

"Oh, stop that at once, Miriam," Miss Spink scolded her, picking up a steaming scone and juggling it from hand to hand to cool it. "The poor boy's about to hide between the settee cushions! And you'd nearly fit, too, dearie," she added, pushing the cake tray towards Wybie. "Help yourself, there's a love, before they get cold."

Wybie gingerly picked up a scone. He'd never tried the Misses' baking, but he'd heard a few things from Coraline….oh. Right.

"It's about Coraline," he started, but Miss Spink burst in immediately.

"Ooh, come for a bit of advice, have we?" she exclaimed, pressing her hands together in delight. Crumbs pattered into her lap.

"Don't be daft, April, the girl's vanished," Miss Forcible snapped. "We heard all about it from her mother this morning, don't you remember?"

"Well, yes," Miss Spink sighed, "but one can always hope…in any case, child, what about her? Has she been found?"

"That's, um…that's the thing," Wybie said, struggling to keep the thread of the conversation straight. He had no idea where to look; his gaze bounced from one alarming sight to the next until his eyes felt like two ping-pong balls. "Her, uh…her mother says we're supposed to…we're going to assemble a search party. She figures maybe we could figure out where she might've run off to, and…track her down?" He took a bite of the scone, then sputtered and coughed, reaching for his teacup as the floury dough sucked the moisture from his mouth.

"Oh, excellent!" Miss Forcible enthused. "April, they're mounting a search! Calling in the cavalry!" Snatching up her cane, she waved it in the air, narrowly missing a few stuffed Scotties on the shelf behind her. "Tally-ho!"

"So we're to join in, are we?" Miss Spink looked equally delighted at the prospect, hauling herself to her feet to lean on her walker and smile merrily at him. "Seek her, and bring her hither?"

"Uh…yeah?" Wybie hazarded a guess through a mouthful of tea and crumbs. "Mrs. Jones said maybe you could search downtown, since you know most of the shopkeepers."

Miss Forcible was halfway to the door already. "Never fear, then! We will hunt her everywhere, swifter than the moon's sphere!" She patted her wig, making sure the blond strands were all in place. "Just let me fetch a cardigan!"

Wybie gulped down the last of his scone and heaved a sigh of relief. "Thanks for the tea, Miss Spink," he said, unfolding his lanky body from the low sofa with some difficulty. She dimpled up at him.

"Always nice to have a bit of adventure, isn't it?" she said. "Provided it all turns out well in the end." Her eyes sobered a bit. "How's her mother? She was a bit distraught this morning."

"I think she's…holding up," Wybie said.

"Perhaps we'll have to bring by some scones later," Miss Spink mused.

Wybie swallowed. "That, uh…that'd be really nice of you," he said. "I'm sure she'd be…amazed. Listen, I should really get going…"

"Oh, don't mind us, dear!" she said, waving him along. "Ladies at our toilette, we never can be rushed, as you know! Or you will, anyway. Just give it a few years," she added with a private chuckle.

Wybie took that as his cue, and made a beeline for the door, hopping over a dog or two on the way out. The door slammed behind him with a jingle.

* * *

"'Just go and ask the Misses to help, would you?' Guh!" Slouching across the yard, Wybie sucked scone crumbs from between his teeth and tried to spit them into the grass. They clung like putty.

The kitchen door was closed and locked, but a handwritten note had been taped to the front door. _Gone to the police station. Search party assembling in the kitchen at 5pm. –Mel and Charlie_

Wybie pulled back his sleeve and glanced at his watch. Four forty-five. He could wait around and join the adults, but…somehow he doubted Coraline was anywhere downtown. Knowing her, she'd have wandered off someplace quiet to sulk and think.

The treetops waved gently in the breeze. Wybie sighed, and clumped back down the stairs, heading for the path down the hill.

Dead spring grass rustled to each side of the path as he meandered along. Letting himself in at the garden gate, he crossed the old cobbles and out into the woods. The battered pines loomed overhead.

"Where are you hiding?" he muttered, peering off into the long grass. "This is completely typical for you, you know that? Flipping out over nothing, making a big deal out of everything…"

He sighed, shoving his hands into the front pocket of his hoodie. The skull patch she'd given him for his last birthday winked up at him, stitched onto the pocket with awkward, uneven black stitches. Wybie stared morosely back at it.

"You'd better be all right," he muttered, and picked up the pace, headed for the deep woods. It was only a scattering of trees here, but further in, he knew Coraline had a few places she liked to sit and read in the summertime. He'd tracked her down more than once after an argument…

Halfway across the clearing, something made him pause. Wybie glanced back over his shoulder. The little ring of toadstools stood quietly in the sunshine.

"No way," he muttered…but, geez, what if she was? The thought made his blood run cold; he turned back in a hurry.

It was a waste of time. The old well was the same as ever; the layer of dirt that covered the lid lay smooth and undisturbed. Not even a footprint. Wybie crouched down for a closer look, just to be sure, then sighed with relief. He gave one of the toadstools a pat and stood.

The woods were silent, except for the papery rustle of dry-needled branches brushing each other in the wind and the wet crunch of his feet in last year's leaves. Wybie swiveled his head constantly as he walked, staring into every shadow and listening as hard as he could.

"Hello?" he shouted, cupping his gloved hands around his mouth. "Jonesy?"

The trees whispered in the breeze. He cleared his throat, uneasily, and tried again.

"Jonesy, I know you're out here somewhere! This is a really bad idea, okay? You're freaking your parents out, and…and you're freaking me out a little, too, so just ollie oxen-free, already!"

Still nothing. Just the trees, and the sky, and the dead grass, and him.

Wybie sighed, dropping his arms to his side. "C'mon, Coraline…" he muttered.

A twig cracked, somewhere in the shrubbery nearby.

"Hey!" Wybie cried, whirling around to face an overgrown stand of rhododendron bushes. He gave it a dubious look, then sighed and struggled through, trying to keep twigs from snarling in his hair and failing miserably. "Hang on—ack!" he shouted, hopping on one foot. The other was firmly tangled in the bush. Grabbing his leg in both hands, he pulled, and managed to stumble free.

"Dammit, don't run off!" he called, getting his balance and feeling like an idiot. With his luck, it'd be a squirrel—

No. There was a girl sitting in the clearing, with an open book cradled in her crossed legs. Dark green hair, pulled back in a stubby ponytail. A striped shirt. Battered jeans, with a dragonfly on the pocket.

"Jonesy!" Wybie cried, feeling a rush of relief so strong it startled him. He ran toward her. "What are you _doing _out here? Your parents are freaking out! C'mon, we've gotta get back to the Palace quick and tell everybody you're…!"

The girl got to her feet, and turned.

Wybie's feet stumbled to a dead stop.

"Whoa!" His eyes went wide. "Oh, geez…"

This…person…was the spit and image of the Coraline he knew. But this Coraline had no bright brown eyes: just a shiny black button sewn into each empty socket.

Wybie took a wary step back, then another. "You're...not Coraline. Are you?"

The button-eyed stranger shook her head, slowly. There was something mournful in her expression. She looked…lost. Confused. A dozen of the real Coraline's stories came rushing back to Wybie, wrapped up in the smell of red tulips and the puckery aftertaste of lemonade: stories of buttons and bugs and a white sky that unraveled, and another, quieter Wybie with sad black eyes.

"You're the _other _Coraline. Right?" he guessed.

"Yes," she whispered, clutching her book tightly.

Wybie shivered; she sounded like Coraline, all right, but her voice was so soft that he could hardly make out the words. It was hard to tell where the buttons were looking, but her face was turned towards him. She tilted her head quizzically, reminding him a little of his cat.

"Wybie?" she said, and smiled.

"Uh…yeah," Wybie said. "How did you…"

She said nothing. The smile didn't waver, but her button eyes gleamed brightly.

Wybie scratched the back of his neck. "That's, uh…wow. Kinda…spooky." He swallowed. "So…um, actually, I was just looking for Cor…for the other Coraline."

The other Coraline tilted her head the other way. There was something a little unnerving about eyes that never blinked.

"I mean the _other _other Coraline," Wybie corrected himself. "You know. This world's Coraline? She went missing last night…hey." Pieces were falling into place around the edges, but the middle of the puzzle was still empty. "Should I be checking behind that creepy door?"

"No," the other Coraline shook her head, and glanced warily in the direction of the house. The way her fingers tightened around her book was almost…hunted.

"Did you…get away from _her?" _Wybie asked. He remembered the things Coraline had told him about the Other Mother, and how she treated her creations, all too well—he didn't like to think of another Coraline, even a fake one, going through that hell.

The other Coraline bit her lip. "Yes…"

"Geez," Wybie said. "I'm glad. I wouldn't wish her on anybody." He paused. "Do _you _know where Coraline is?"

She tilted her head back the other way. "Coraline?"

"Yes! Coraline!" Wybie pressed, getting a little annoyed. What exactly had they just been talking about? He held up a hand at head height. "She's got green hair, about yay tall, looks just like you except for the buttons?"

The other Coraline looked puzzled, and said nothing. Wybie let out a sigh, and gave his hair an exasperated tug—it wasn't really made for running fingers through.

"You don't talk much, do you?"

She gestured to her own chest, questioningly.

"Yeah, you," Wybie said. "You only say one word at a time. Can't you, you know, string a couple together?"

Her shoulders slumped, and the slim little hand lifted to her throat. "No…"

"Oh." Wybie gulped. "God, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…" He tugged awkwardly at his collar. "Well, if it makes you feel better, Jonesy says I talk enough for two people. So I guess I could kinda make up for it?"

It wasn't much of a joke, but the smile that broke across her face was like sunshine. She even had that familiar crooked tooth on one side. Wybie's heart squeezed painfully, as he remembered what he was supposed to be looking for.

"Hey, if you don't know where she is, do you know where she _might _be?"

The other Coraline shrugged.

"Great." Wybie glared at the dirt, as if it ought to have the answers that she didn't. "But it's got something to do with your world, right? It's got to, or you wouldn't be here."

She hesitated, then nodded.

Well, that was something. "Could you help me look for her?"

_That _got a reaction. The bright smile shone out again, and she tucked her book under one arm and held out a hand to him. Hesitantly, Wybie reached out and took it. It was completely swallowed up by his dirty glove, but she didn't seem to mind. Were Jonesy's hands really that small? Had he never noticed because she always acted so big?

Knowing her, she'd be doing just fine, wherever she was.

But still, he needed to know she was okay. And so did her parents.

"Here," the other Coraline said, beaming at him, and led him off down the path, into the woods. Hope rising in his heart, he followed her.

* * *

Consciousness had drifted in and out for…minutes? hours? She'd lost track long ago. In the end, it was her own shivering that woke her.

Coraline forced open bleary eyes and let out a tiny moan. What was going on? Where was she…? It was as dark as a tomb.

She flexed sore fingers, and shoved a strand of sopping hair out of her eyes. She was curled in a numb ball against a damp wall, up to her waist in chilly water, and cold. Oh, _god _was she cold. Freezing, and wet, and sore, and…was that slime? She shifted position, trying to—

"_Ahh! _Oh—_god!"_

The pain that shot up her leg as she tried to move it was tooth-cracking. Coraline doubled over, clutching at her thigh. Her head swam in dizzy circles, and she gritted her teeth, careful not to move again as she rode out the wave of shock.

Eventually, the sensation dulled. Very gingerly, she loosened her grip and traced her fingertips down the injured leg, over her knee and down her shin… "Ow!" Sucking in her breath, she lightly pressed the spot and felt the throbbing ache of heavy swelling. Even the cold couldn't numb this.

"Perfect," she muttered, drawing up her other leg and slumping her forehead onto her knee. "I couldn't have my first broken leg at the skating rink, nooo. It had to be at the bottom of a—"

The memories rushed back in one horrible burst. Prying up the lid of the well, calling into the darkness…and then…

"Hello?!" Coraline shouted, frantically. "Is anybody there?! Help! I'm down here! Hello! Mom? Dad?! _Anybody?! Hello-o-o!"_

She flailed around with both arms, but touched nothing but the muddy wall behind her, and nothing reached back from the darkness. If there was anything in here with her, it wasn't making its move just yet. Shivering, she curled into as much of a ball as she could without moving her leg.

"Well, great," she muttered. "Just where I wanted to spend my weekend. Fifty feet underground." Peering up, she squinted, wondering if the hole in the lid would be visible as a speck of light.

There was nothing overhead but shadows.

Suddenly the walls of the well seemed to be pressing in around her in the pitch blackness. Coraline whimpered, feeling her throat closing up…then winced and shook her head, hard. "_Oh, _no. Now is _not _the time for hysterics," she lectured herself; the sound of any human voice was reassuring, even her own. "Somebody's going to come looking sooner or later. I just have to…wait this out."

Hunkering down, she pulled the damp sweater more snugly around her shoulders and rested her cheek on her folded arms. Her pajamas were wet through, but better than nothing.

"I hate waiting," she mumbled, and closed her eyes, letting her own exhaustion drag her away from the pain for a while.

* * *

"….is it my hoodie?"

"No."

"The patch on my hoodie?"

The other Coraline giggled, giving Wybie a teasing look. She was awfully expressive for a girl with buttons for eyes. "No," she said, half scolding him.

Wybie pondered for a second. They were on their way back to the Palace, with the light of the sunset stretching orange fingers across the sky overhead, and she was beating him hollow at every game he suggested to pass the time.

Trying to name animals starting with odd letters or guess something black, as it turned out, was less nerve-wracking than thinking about the hours they'd spent searching. They'd covered half the forest at least, twig by twig, including most of Coraline's favorite spots; but it would be dark soon and she was still nowhere to be found.

Wybie clung to the hope that he'd get back to the Joneses' and find a triumphant search party in the kitchen and a grouchy, well-scolded Coraline sulking in her bedroom. Grounded was infinitely better than gone.

"Is it your eyes?" he guessed, pushing the morbid thought away. "Wait, no, you can't spy your own eyes."

The other Coraline laughed again. "No."

Wybie made a face. "Fine, I give up. What is it?"

Looking as pleased with herself as a cat in the canary cage, she flipped open the book in her hands and pointed at a page.

"There."

"Huh?" Wybie leaned over her shoulder. The fairy tale illustrated on it was something about a lion fighting a dragon. He had a funny feeling he'd seen it before. "How does that count as something black?"

She pointed again with her fingertip. "There!"

The light dawned.

"What, the print?" he said. She covered a smile with her free hand, and he started to laugh, too. "Hey! That's cheating!"

"Winning," she corrected him, and shut the book again. Wybie squinted at the cover. It definitely looked familiar.

"That's Coraline's, isn't it?" he said. He reached for it, and the other Coraline reluctantly handed it over. The pages were rippled with moisture exposure, but that was nothing new. One of Coraline's favorite reading spots was an old crate someone had left in the woods, and she had a bad habit of stashing books in it when she was in a hurry.

"Forgotten," the other Coraline said, with a shrug.

Wybie handed it back. "Nah, she just left it for a while. She does that. You should put it back when you're done with it, though. She hates it when people take her stuff."

They were nearly out of the trees by now, and he could see the roof of the Palace over the hill, and his bike parked behind the bushes at the edge of the cliff.

The other Coraline's gaze seemed to pause on it, too.

"Red," she declared, and Wybie snorted.

"Too easy. You spy my bike." He grinned. "Want a closer look?"

She nodded. About to lead the way up the cliff, Wybie stopped at the thought of the psychological effect she would probably have on Coraline's parents, and reconsidered.

"Actually, why don't you wait here? I'll bring the bike around," he said, and jogged off up the grassy path.

Disentangling his bike from the bushes wasn't too hard; he was jogging down again in no time, wheeling it along by the handlebars. The other Coraline waited patiently, sitting on the tree stump by the old well with her chin propped in her hands.

"Here," he said, stopping the bike for her inspection. "It's not like there's much to her, really, she's a pretty hardcore junkyard Frankenstein, but one of these days—"

"Ooh." She interrupted him, getting up to run reverent hands over the gleaming metal. If she noticed the rusty spots he hadn't been able to sand off and paint over, she didn't seem to care. "You?" She pointed at him, and made a gesture like a hand turning a tool in midair.

"M…oh, you mean did I make it?" Wybie grinned sheepishly; her innocent awe was kind of gratifying. "Yeah, Mr. Bard gives me old parts and stuff. Scrap heap junk, mostly, it's nothing special..."

"Amazing," she murmured, tracing the outline of one of the painted stripes with her fingertip, as gently as if she was afraid it might smear. Wybie felt his cheeks flush hot, and ducked his head.

"Yeah, well," he said, grabbing the handlebars and quickly wheeling the bike a step or two away, out from under her touch. Her hands reached wistfully after it, like a baby with a favorite toy. "It took a while to, y'know, uh, painting all the…hey, look, it's getting really dark! I—I should go."

Her face fell instantly, and he felt a twinge of conscience.

"We can search the rest of the woods tomorrow, okay?" he suggested, and was gratified to see her cheer up again. "It's a weekend, so we'll have all day. How's that?"

She nodded happily. "Great!"

"O…okay, then." What brought on all that enthusiasm, anyway? Wybie blinked, perplexed, then collected himself and got onto the bike. He pointed to the spokes of the back wheel, where Coraline usually stood when she hitched a ride somewhere. "Climb on."

The other Coraline hung back.

"Aren't you coming?" he asked. "You can't sleep in the woods."

She shook her head.

"C'mon, it's fine. Jonesy does this all the time. You can hold on to my shoulders."

She looked hopefully up the hill at the Pink Palace. Wybie winced.

"Oh, no. Listen, whatever you do, you can _not _go up there. Okay? If her parents see you, they're gonna freak the hell out. They won't understand."

She was still staring wistfully up the hill.

Wybie sighed. "Look, just trust me on this. It's a bad idea. You can sleep at my place, I'll sneak you in." The other Coraline shook her head again. "Well, you have to sleep somewhere," he pointed out.

"No," she said.

Wybie blinked. "No, what?"  
"_No,_" she repeated, and mimed laying her head on her folded hands, then shook her head again.

"Wait," Wybie said. "You don't sleep?"

"No," she said.

He let that sink in for a second. "So, what, you're just going to stay out here? All night?"

"Yes," she agreed.

It was Wybie's turn to stare. He'd more or less figured she wasn't human, but this was just…strange.

"Okay," he said, reluctantly, after a moment. "If you say so. I guess I'll meet you here?"

She smiled at him, and nodded.

"Right. So…let me know if you figure anything out, or remember anything, or have any ideas, or…" He cleared his throat. "Uh. See you tomorrow?"

"Goodbye," she whispered.

Wybie revved up the motor, then kicked it into gear. He peeled a donut around the clearing, to get up some momentum, and then accelerated up the hill hard enough to throw a cloud of dust into the air behind him. The well and the girl, her hair still fluttering in the wind of his passage, dwindled away into nothing as he sped away. In moments, he was up and over the hill with a bounce and a crashing of tires on underbrush.

Geez, he thought, leaning low over the handlebars to keep his hair clear of branches. This was getting weirder and weirder.

He wished intensely that Coraline was there, not just for the sake of having her _there, _but to give him a clue on what to do about this quiet new her. She'd be bound to have a million ideas—some of them would even be good.

Passing the Palace, he saw a light in the Joneses' kitchen window and slowed the bike, hopefully. Someone's silhouette was just visible through the gauzy curtains, illuminated by the light inside.

Wybie swerved in a little closer and hit the brakes, then kicked out a foot to stop the bike completely and stood up, peering inside.

It was Mrs. Jones, sitting at the kitchen table with her head in her hands. A taller, thinner shape—Mr. Jones—walked up behind her, resting his hands gently on the back of her chair, and she turned around and buried her face in her husband's shirt. Her shoulders heaved convulsively; he knelt and wrapped his arms around her.

Wybie gulped and turned away quickly. There was a horrible sinking feeling in his stomach. He fired up his bike again, and sped off up the drive, as if enough velocity could blow away the confusion fogging up his brain…

* * *

Coraline shifted in her sleep, frowning. Stupid, noisy motor. When was Wybie going to—

She jolted awake, her entire body giving a jerk of shock, and cried out as her leg spasmed with pain from the sudden movement. She gritted her teeth, trying to ignore the pain. She _knew _that sputtery, shop-monster purr like the sound of her own voice.

"Wybie!" she screamed, gasping for breath. "Wybie, oh, thank god! Turn that thing off! It's me, Coraline!"

The motor roared overhead, muffled by the thick layer of earth and the closed lid. Coraline cupped her hands around her mouth, trying to struggle up onto her good leg as if a few feet's approach to the surface could amplify her cries. "I'm down here! Wybie,come on! Listen! Come oooon!"

The sound swelled, and for a beautiful moment Coraline's world shone. Then it crested, and started to recede into the distance.

"Oh, god," she whispered. "No. _No! _Come back! Wybie, I'm right here! Wybie!" She finally managed to surge to her feet and stretched out her hands, pleading...

The last echoes faded. Coraline let out a scream of frustration and collapsed back into the shallow water with a splash, barely remembering to favor her leg. All the same, she saw stars, and grimaced, pounding both fists into the mud. Cold water splattered her face. "No! NO!"

It seemed like she sat there for ages, breathing heavily. Water dripped from her chin. Then, the softest of sounds filtered into her consciousness.

The echo of a footfall.

Coraline froze, straining her ears to listen. "Hello?" she called, tentatively.

The sound came again, then again, faint but unmistakable this time. Someone was walking on the lid.

"Help!" Coraline shouted, desperate. "Please help! I'm at the bottom of the well! Mom? Dad?"

The footsteps paused. Coraline held her breath.

Whoever it was, they quietly walked away.

"What?! Wait!" Coraline cried. "Come back! I said 'help'!"

Nothing answered her but the musical drip-drop of water.

"Oh, god," she spat, bitterly. "I hate this. This is…I _wish_ this was a nightmare."

On top of everything, now she had a burning, impossible desire to kick something. Plunging both hands into the water, she groped around for something to throw instead. Maybe she could even dislodge the lid a little. Get some light in here…

Her fingers brushed stone, and she groped at it, but it was much too big for her purposes. Still, she dug her fingers into the mud, struggling to pry it loose out of sheer annoyance. Something soft, like waterweed, floated in the water around it and tangled with her hands. With a growl, she grabbed a handful of the stuff and yanked it loose. What on earth could grow in a place like this? Irritated, she rubbed it between her fingers.

It felt…woven.

Coraline's rage cooled. Carefully, she swished the stuff in the water, washing away the caked dirt. She felt it hesitantly, already half sure of what the wash would prove.

Soft cotton threads, rotted away after years underwater, snapped at the touch of her fingers.

"My old blanket," she whispered. A sick feeling rising in the pit of her stomach, she thrust her hands into the water again, roiling and splashing it around as she felt her way across the muddy bottom. Her fingers touched and recoiled from slime, the remains of dead leaves, the empty shells of insects, and more fragments of ruined cloth.

"Come on, where is it?" she whispered, pulling up handfuls of mud and stones and letting them plop back into the shallow water. "It has to be here somewhere…"

She tore chunks of blanket apart, rolled the stone over with a splash and felt under it. Nothing.

There was no key.

"Oh, god," Coraline whispered, pressing muddy fingers over her mouth.

And there was no sign of the remains of the hand.

-


	4. Chapter 3

**Another Coraline**_  
a fanfiction_

_-  
_

**Chapter 3**

-

It was hard to keep a bright face on before breakfast, especially on a day like this. Dawn light was streaking the sky with vibrant color, but as far as Wybie's mood was concerned, it might as well have been raining. Still, when Mr. Jones opened the front door, Wybie was relieved that he'd made the effort. Shadows like bruises darkened the bags under Coraline's father's eyes—he looked like he hadn't slept at all.

"Oh," he mumbled, rubbing at his stubbly chin with one hand. "Morning, Wybie."

"Morning, Mr. Jones," Wybie said, and because it seemed like the only thing to ask, "Any sign of her?"

Mr. Jones' drooping mouth firmed up a bit. "Not yet, but we're hoping. Did you spot anything in the woods?"

Wybie started to answer, then hesitated. "Uh…nothing yet, no," he said. "Sorry. I'm going to look again today, though!"

Mr. Jones sighed. "You know, from what the police are saying, you're as close to the right track as anybody. We had a look at her things, and all we could find missing were her pajamas and her rubber boots, so she might have gone out for a walk and got…sidetracked."

Wybie gulped. "Sidetracked?" he said, a little helplessly. The word had never sounded quite so alarming.

"Something like that," Mr. Jones said, rubbing his temples absently with the fingertips of one hand. Wybie's head was starting to ache in sympathy. "Coffee?"

Wybie gulped. "Uh…no, thanks, I…just had breakfast? Anyway, Grandma says that caffeine early in the morning can build a dependency…"

"It's all right, kiddo," Mr. Jones said, with a wan chuckle. "I know it's awful stuff, but it's…familiar."

He glanced over at the coat rack, and Wybie realized with a dull, sore turn of his stomach that Coraline's father was probably staring at the yellow rain slicker hanging at one end. It drew at his gaze, too, with its sunny color and the quiet emptiness of its dangling sleeves.

Wybie cleared his throat. "I…should probably get searching again." He wondered briefly if he could get away with asking to have a look in their living room, but…if that was where she'd gone, the other-her would have known, wouldn't she?

"And I have phone calls to make," Mr. Jones agreed, with another sigh. "Be careful out there, all right? The last thing we need here is a vanishing epidemic." He managed a rueful smile. "Anyway, if our wayward girl hasn't turned up by tomorrow, the police are putting on a full search—and that'll include the woods. Don't be a hero, okay?"

He gave Wybie a friendly pat on the back. Wybie gulped, and laughed nervously.

"Y-yeah, I'll…try, uh, that," he said. "Good luck today, Mr. Jones!"

He turned and hurried down the steps.

Leaning on the doorframe, Mr. Jones watched him go, and shook his head. Was that really the little boy who'd wolfed his batches of organic lemon bars all through middle school? College was looming in his future, too; at least, Mr. Jones hoped so. That boy was too gifted to spend his life tinkering around on other people's vehicles. Still, there was no sense pushing him about it, and risking scaring him off. That was his grandmother's job.

And ours, Mr. Jones thought wistfully, is to remember not to do the same thing to our own little girl. When she comes back to us.

"Good luck," he murmured, and wondered who exactly he meant it for. All of us, he decided after a moment, and headed for the phone, letting the door swing shut behind him.

* * *

The grass swished softly as Wybie walked through the forest.

"She took her swampers, but nothing else," he muttered, twisting at a stick to keep his hands busy. He always thought better when he was doing something. "That means she expected bad terrain, not a ride in somebody's car."

He snapped the stick in half, looking at the two halves. "So either I'm right, and she's here in the woods…or maybe she was planning to walk into town," he added, remembering seeing her muddy boots approaching from under that car at Bard's. His eyes flicked from one stick to the other, wondering whether he was wasting his time…and hers…on this hunch.

"Hello, Wybie."

Wybie let out an unmanly shriek, whirling around and raising the broken halves of the stick high…

And the other Coraline started to giggle, linking her hands shyly behind her back.

"Oh," Wybie said, and relaxed. He dropped the scrawny sticks. "Geez, you scared me! You can't just sneak up on people and…hey!" A grin spread across his face as realization dawned. "You said two words! That's great!"

The other Coraline tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "I'm growing," she said.

"Oh." He blinked. "Oh, yeah, that reminds me!" Wybie reached into his hoodie pocket and pulled out a crumpled silver packet. "I brought you this," he said, offering it to her. "I thought maybe you might have trouble finding food out here…"

She pushed the packet away, shaking her head. "No, thanks."

"Okay, so it's not really _food_, exactly," he admitted. "I dunno if toaster tarts qualify, but it's, uh…it's got all kinds of vitamins and stuff, and…you can eat it, I swear."

He held it out again, and she smiled. "You're funny," she said, but didn't take it.

"What, don't you eat?" Wybie said. "You can starve to death in ten days, you know, I read it somewhere…"

"It's okay," she said, taking the packet out of his hands, and gently tucking it back into the front pocket of his hoodie. "You're sweet," she added, and gave the pocket a little pat, smiling up at him. Wybie gulped, and went very still.

"Uh…" he managed.

She held out her hand. "Come on!"

"Oh, uh…right," Wybie said. He gave his head a little shake and put his hand in hers. He'd only taken a few steps, though, when something wove between his ankles and he stumbled. "Ah—!"

The something extricated itself from his boots with a squalling noise, then settled itself on its skinny haunches and began disdainfully setting its fur back in order with tongue and paws. Wybie's face lit up, and he let go of the other Coraline's hand to crouch next to his not-quite-pet.

"Hey! I haven't seen you around here in ages…well, days," he corrected himself, and gave the cat a scratch between the ears. It gave him a wearily indulgent look and stopped washing to allow for better scratching. "Where've you been, anyway?"

It blinked calmly at him, looking for all the world as if it were about to explain. Then it spotted something behind him and leapt to its feet with its ears laid flat, making a high furious sound like a punctured tire.

Wybie started, then realized the problem and started to laugh. The other Coraline was kneeling next to him, looking perplexed.

"Whoa, calm down, already," he said to the cat. Its mangy black fur was completely on end, giving its body the look of a spiky pine cone with legs. "Stay there for a second, okay?" he told his companion. "He's never bitten me, but I can't vouch for anybody else."

That said, he waddled a little closer, still crouching, and tried to smooth down the cat's hackles; the fur crackled electrically under his fingers. Its eyes were pinned accusingly to the other Coraline's face, and it opened its mouth and hissed.

"Stop that," he chided. "I know the buttons are a little weird, but she's just the other Coraline. She's here to help." Turning back to her, he added ruefully, "Other Coraline, this…is the cat."

"Your cat?" she asked.

"Nah," he admitted. "Just _a _cat. He kind of adopted me when I was eight or so. I don't really know how old he is, but he's gotta be over a hundred in cat years by now…"

She nodded, then reached out a hand towards it. The cat backed away, gargling low in its throat with its teeth bared.

"I'm really sorry," Wybie said, and gave the cat a frown. "Relax, would you? She's nice, I promise."

It gave him a withering look, and then turned and trotted off back towards the Palace. Wybie shrugged.

"I don't know what's wrong with him," he said. "He loves Coraline."

"It's okay," she said, and took his hand again. "Let's go?"

Wybie nodded, and followed her into the woods.

* * *

The cold was bearable. The fear of something waiting in the dark was fading with every hour she spent so obviously alone. But what was driving her batty, Coraline realized as she drifted awake after another brief, fitful spell of sleep, was the darkness itself.

There was no time here. No daylight, no moonlight. No clues to what had become of the hand. No way to tell how long she'd been trapped in this place, except the increasing gnawing in her stomach…

Coraline shivered, wrapping her arms more tightly around her good knee.

"Hello?" she called up, fruitlessly. Sooner or later, somebody had to be listening, right? That, or her voice would give out.

"Or I could starve to death," she muttered, thinking longingly of Mrs. Lovat's steaming baked oatmeal with raisins, right out of the oven…or even her dad's standard bowl of granola with soy milk and those awful bits of dried fruit that stuck in your molars.

She leaned back on her hands and stared up into nothing. "Hello?" she tried again. "If anybody's up there, I'd really appreciate it if—"

A spatter of falling dirt struck her cheek.

"Ow! Hey!" Coraline flinched, and sat up straight. Her half-numb leg twinged again, but she ignored it, staring intently overhead.

A soft scuffling sound echoed down the long shaft of the well, and more fragments of earth dropped into the water with tiny splashes. Coraline caught her breath. Someone was digging!

"Hello?" she shouted, gleeful. "Hey, it's me! It's Coraline!"

High above, in the darkness, a tiny golden star came to light. Coraline breathed a sign of relief. That had to be the knothole. It was daytime—the thought was comforting.

"Hey!" she cried.

Something meowed.

Coraline's face fell. "Oh, god," she whispered. "Please be with Wybie, please…"

Another little rain of pebbles fell, and the light vanished as if something was poking its nose inside. The meow came again, louder this time, and Coraline groaned.

"No-o—! Not the cat, come _on!_"

The nose withdrew, and the little ray of light returned. Coraline listened hard, but it was impossible to hear the sound of the cat's footfalls from where she sat.

"Wait!" she cried, dread congealing in her stomach. "Don't leave me alone down here! I'm sorry, I was just…hoping you were somebody who could get me out of here!"

There was a pause. Coraline held her breath.

Then, reluctantly, there came another soft mew.

"Oh, thank god," Coraline breathed, rubbing a hand across her brow. "Okay, cat. I don't suppose you could go and get Wybie for me?"

Something blocked a bit of the light from the hole. Coraline couldn't tell if it was an ear or a tail or what, but it was wagging from side to side, making the sunlight flash and flicker.

"Is that a yes or a no?" she called, then groaned in frustration. "What am I saying? How are you supposed to tell me?"

She let her head fall forward onto her folded arms. After a moment, the cat meowed again, and something in the sound seemed sympathetic. That, or she was just clutching at straws. Coraline sighed, and nestled her cheek against the wet sweater sleeve to warm it up a little.

"Well, I'm glad somebody's here, anyway," she mumbled. "It's better than being down here alone."

The cat made a companionable noise, somewhere between a mew and a purr. A few grains of dust floated down, as bright as sparks in the little column of light.

"Are you getting settled up there or what?" she asked.

He mewed once more, this time sounding almost like a terse scolding—what else did she expect?—and fell silent.

For the first time in long, trackless hours, Coraline Jones smiled.

* * *

"Wybie, look!"

Straightening up from his crouch, Wybie abandoned the dead grass he'd been searching for tracks and shaded his eyes with his hand. The weather today was beautiful, more like summer than spring, and his searching partner had been wandering off to chase every bright and shiny thing they found along their way.

At the moment, she was following after a dipping, dodging white butterfly, snatching at it with both hands. As he watched, laughing, she jumped and caught it in her cupped fingers.

"Nice catch!" he couldn't help exclaiming. She smiled and held out her hands. He could see the snowy wings of the trapped butterfly beating wildly against her fingers.

"It's beautiful," she murmured, sidling up next to him to show it off.

Well. Maybe she wasn't that different from the Coraline he knew. Wybie had no trouble imagining this girl spinning out into the rain in a yellow slicker, laughing.

She sighed, still looking at her catch, and leaned her head on his shoulder.

Wybie froze. Her hair was soft, and it tickled his neck.

"Uh…yeah!" he exclaimed, taking a step left so that she had to straighten up quickly or lose her balance. "It's a...it's a great butterfly. Um…we really should be searching for Coraline, though."

The other Coraline pouted. Her hands started to close into unhappy fists as she lowered them, and Wybie grabbed her wrists.

"Careful, you'll kill it!" he cried. Slugs and beetles could take plenty of abuse, but butterflies were like fancy living Kleenex, and his grandma had given him holy hell the one time she caught him trying to pin one to a card. "Here."

He cupped the girl's hands in his own and pried them open. The butterfly sat peaceably on their linked fingers for a moment, shaking its wings back into place, then darted into the air and disappeared up over the treetops.

Wybie tilted his face up to the sun and watched until the little bug had fluttered out of sight. When he lowered his chin again, the other Coraline was nose to nose with him, her blank button eyes close to his.

"Ahh!" He let go of her hands and took a hasty step back, then gulped. "Uh…look, today was fun and everything, but we're wasting time," he pointed out. "We haven't got much daylight left, and if we don't find her tonight, they're going to search the woods with dogs and cops and flashlights and all kinds of—"

"Wybie, shh." She pressed a finger to her smiling lips. "I'll hide."

He sighed. "I know _you'll _be fine. I just…I'm scared for her. Either she's going to be in a lot of trouble when they find her…or she's in a lot of trouble right now."

He clenched his gloved hands into fists. "What if she's hurt? What if she had an accident, or something, and she's…lying under a bush somewhere and we walked right past her? I mean, just look at you! Her hair would blend right in!" He tugged at his own in frustration, making two frizzy handfuls stand up. "She could be right under my nose and I'd never…"

The other Coraline tugged at a lock of her own hair, and suddenly it wasn't green anymore. It was a brilliant shade of orange.

Wybie yelped, startled clean off his train of thought. "Wha—! How did you…?"

He craned his neck this way and that, peering at the sides and back of her head. Every hair seemed to have changed color. "That's…that's crazy!"

She giggled, and tugged the same strand again. Her hair flashed brilliant blue, then pale green like a leaf in the sun.

Wybie whistled. "You have _got _to teach Jonesy that trick. She keeps frying hers at home in the sink and—augh!"

He flinched away in instinctive horror. Of the many colors Coraline's head had phased through over seven years of abusing the dye bottle, shocking pink was one of the few he couldn't remember.

"Geez! Change it back, quick, she'd kill me if…wow."

The other Coraline brushed a strand of perfectly ordinary brown hair out of her button eyes.

Wybie stared. "Okay, that's just _weird."_

A faint call echoed through the air, and they both turned to look up the hill. The words were impossible to make out, but the clanging cowbell was deeply familiar. Wybie groaned. "Grandma."

The other Coraline sighed, and suddenly her hair was green again, as if it had never changed. "Don't go?" she said.

"I have to," Wybie admitted. "She probably needs help with something. Can you keep out of sight, if they show up tomorrow for a real search? I…don't think it'd be good if they found you."

She nodded, solemnly. "Totally invisible."

"Good," Wybie said, and patted her shoulder. She beamed at him, and he felt his cheeks flush.

"Uh…bye," he said, flustered, and quickly turned and headed up the hill. A twig snapped behind him. He glanced over his shoulder.

The other Coraline was following close behind him, calmly picking her way through the long grass.

He stopped, and she stopped, too.

"Um," he said. "You…do know you can't go to the top of the hill, right? They'll see you."

For a moment, he could have sworn a look like frustration flickered across her blank-eyed face. Then it was gone, replaced with another sweet smile. "Your bike," she said.

"Oh," Wybie said. "You want to see me off?"

She nodded, eagerly. Wybie sighed and went back to tramping along.

Halfway up the hill, he felt her hand slip into his. Her fingers felt cool and dry, even through his gloves. Wybie blushed, but kept his gaze straight ahead, stubbornly pushing his way through the dry branches. Their linked hands swung between them as they walked; the sun beat down on their heads, warm and golden.

They reached the top of the hill and he spotted his bike, parked against the prickly bark of a fir. The red paint glistened in the sun.

The paint job had taken three weekends. Coraline had passed him the brushes and the cans, while they went through boxes of moon pies and quarts of orange drink. She'd told him he was a goober for putting tiger stripes on a dirt bike and then helped outline the pattern with magic marker…

Wybie flinched, and dropped the other Coraline's hand as if her fingers were made of hot glass. She gave him a look that managed to be startled and wounded at the same time.

"Look, I'm sorry, but…" What was he playing at, anyway? He gulped, taking a step back. "I really gotta…"

"Wybie," she whispered, her button eyes intent on his, "shh."

He took another step back, but she stepped forward, following him as he edged away, foot for foot and nose to nose. Wybie realized what she was about to do, just in time to stop short in dismay.

And then she leaned across the gap between them, and kissed him. Her lips against his were just as cold as her fingers.

"W-whoaa!" Wybie struggled loose, grabbing her arms and shoving her away. "Whoa, _whoa! _Hang on—"

She looked puzzled. He realized he was still gripping her wrists and quickly let go.

"What's wrong?" she said, and reached for him again. Wybie nearly tripped over his bike in his haste to back away.

"Look," he said, holding up his hands. "I'm sure you're a very nice, uh…button girl, and…but…you can't just go around kissing random guys out of nowhere! Okay? It's...it's kind of creepy."

"I'm creepy?" If buttons could cry, hers would be filling with tears. Wybie felt a stab of guilt.

"Well, no, not really, but…I mean, you, uh, you have…" He gestured to his face, lamely.

She touched a fingertip to each of his cheeks, just under his eyes, and smiled.

"My buttons?"

Wybie shoved her hands away, frustrated. Her moods were swinging like someone flipping a switch. "Look, would you just…stop touching me for five seconds? We've got more important things to worry about right now. We have to find Jonesy, and then we—"

"Who's Jonesy?" she said, sweetly.

"Coraline!" Wybie was rapidly running to the end of his patience. "You know, my best friend! The other you! The girl we've been combing the woods for all…all weekend…"

His anger faltered suddenly. Come to think of it, they'd done a lot of poking absently around under bushes, finding frogs and bugs and searching the stream beds for footprints, but very little actual searching. Every other minute, his so-called searching partner had come up with another frog or a game or a shiny stone…

The other Coraline was playfully walking her fingertips up his sleeve. Wybie squawked and grabbed her by the shoulders, holding her at arm's length.

"God! Okay! Okay." He took a deep breath, and gave her shoulders a squeeze. "You, stay right there and…and think about respecting other people's personal bubbles. I," he declared, throwing one leg over his bike, "am going _home._"

She caught at his sleeve, stopping him.

"But…tomorrow?"

Wybie made a face. This was getting too weird. "If I come back, no more touchy stuff, got it?"

She nodded. "No more."

"Fine." He was in too much of a hurry to make nice—instead, he kicked his bike into gear, and it rumbled to life under him. "Stay out of sight!" he shouted over the sputtering roar, and shot off towards the main road, swerving wildly around trees and bushes.

It was too dangerous to look over his shoulder with so many branches waiting to sweep him off his bike. But when he reached the road, he braked for a second and looked back. She was still standing exactly where he'd left her, a tiny figure far away among the trees. He could just see the pale dot of her face, uplifted, watching him go.

A shiver ran up Wybie's spine. He shut his eyes for a second, then gunned the motor and sped off down the road and away.

"See you soon," the other Coraline whispered to the waiting woods.

-


	5. Chapter 4

**Another Coraline**_  
a fanfiction_

_-  
_

**Chapter 4**

-

_Splash._

Plunging her hand into the slimy water again, Coraline fished around for a moment, then came up with another dripping pebble. She squinted at her hand; its outline was just visible, now that her eyes had adjusted to the tiny glow of light from above.

Carefully, she tossed the stone at the opposite wall, listening for the wet tap.

_Splash._

If this even counted as a game, it was getting old fast. Also, her fingers didn't feel the freezing temperature of the water anymore when she hunted for pebbles. She'd stopped shivering a while ago, in fact. Coraline wished she could take that as a good thing, but she had a very bad feeling about it.

"Hello?" she called.

Patient purring filtered down to her, echoing off the wet walls. Coraline smiled.

"Hey, cat. Let's play, um…twenty questions." It was good for passing the time on road trips, at least. "Meow for yes and, um…hiss for no. Got it?"

She half expected it to get up and walk away from her for even making such an inane suggestion, but to her surprise, the meow from above sounded reluctantly obliging. She cleared her throat.

"Wow. Thanks. Um. Somebody's been wandering around here, right?"

It meowed.

"Is it Wybie?"

Another meow.

"Hey, why can't _you _get him to come check the well?"

A feline grumble. Coraline sighed. She was somewhat abandoning the rules of the game, but this was marginally more interesting. Maddening, yes, but interesting.

"Figures. Huh…is there anybody _else _up there?"

She thought she heard a mew, but it was faint and uncertain. Coraline blinked, puzzled.

"Can you get _them _to come check?" she tried—and flinched at its sudden teakettle hiss. "Geez! Okay, okay!"

The hiss faded, and Coraline frowned. Since when did the cat get that agitated over nothing?

"…wait. Wait a minute. What's wrong? Is it somebody bad?"

A long, warbling yowl echoed off the walls. It sent a shiver up Coraline's spine, which turned to a shudder as she realized…

"Wait, does Wybie know they're there? Is he in trouble?"

There was no reply.

"Dammit!" Coraline snapped, staring up at the fading sunlight filtering through the hole in the lid. No chance of sending a warning, there. "Why can't I get _out _of…oh, no."

If the last thought had made her shudder, this one turned her spine to ice. Hesitantly, she reached out one arm in the dark, feeling around until she found the curve of the old rock. The wisps of rotten cloth fluttered in the water, gently stroking her numb skin…

It couldn't be…right?

She gulped. "Cat? Do…do you know what happened to the hand?"

Silence. She had no way of knowing if the cat was even still there. Coraline wrapped her arms around herself.

"Oh, no," she whispered. "Wybie, you idiot, be _careful…"_

_

* * *

  
_

Branches scraped harshly on the window, and Wybie turned over, huddling uneasily into his pillow. The storm had woken him from a fitful sleep, raindrops lashing against the glass in noisy waves, and now he couldn't stop staring into the shadows of his own room, waiting for dawn to come.

Was Coraline—the real Coraline—still out there in this weather? Was she dry? Was she safe? Was it his fault for not looking harder? He remembered the white butterfly and shivered, wondering if it was sheltering under a leaf somewhere.

A soft tapping sound filtered in from the night, breaking the rhythm of the rain. It was too gentle to be a branch. Wybie blinked and sat up a little, turning to stare out into the night. What _was _it? A leaf? A bird looking for shelter? He squinted, trying to see through the rain-spattered glass of the window…

A flash of lightning exploded outside, illuminating the black shape and brilliant round eyes of something outside.

Wybie screamed, throwing off his covers in a panicked scramble, and fell out of bed.

He sprawled there, gasping, for a second, tangled in the blankets he'd dragged off the bed, as it dawned on him that the thing he'd seen was not, in fact, person-shaped. In fact, it had looked very familiar.

Outside the window, something meowed.

Wybie groaned and let his head thump to rest on the floor. A sharp knock sounded on the other side of his bedroom wall.

"Wybourne! What's wrong?"

"Just a dream, Grandma," he called back.

"You need anything? Drink of water?"

"I'm fine," he said, trying to slow down his breathing before paper bags became necessary. There was a rustling and a creak of springs as his grandmother settled herself down again.

"Well, good night then."

Wybie got to his feet, leaving the blankets in a heap. "G'night, Grandma," he called, then tiptoed to the window and slid it open as quietly as he could. The cat hopped lightly to the floor and shook itself, then walked past him to the bedroom door. It looked over its shoulder and meowed again.

"What are you doing here?" he whispered. "You just scared a year off my life! That's like _seven _cat years!"

The cat glanced up at the ceiling, as if begging for patience, then stalked over and sank a paw's worth of claws into the hem of his pajama pants.

"Ow!" Wybie yelped, as the little hooks caught skin. "Hey!"

"Wybourne! Some folks are trying to sleep in this house!"

"Sorry!" he called, and stood very still as his grandmother's bedstead creaked itself quiet again.

The cat was still standing at his feet, looking up at him. Wybie knelt down and gingerly unhooked its claws from his pants.

"You're not going to leave me alone until I follow you," he whispered. "Are you."

The cat, of course, said nothing.

A crazy thought occurred. "Do _you _know where Jonesy's hiding?" he asked.

It blinked, slowly, and walked back to the door with its tail held high.

Wybie sighed. Then he fetched a pair of jeans and his hoodie from the closet and stealthily padded out into the hall. The last thing he wanted was to run into the other Coraline again, but by tomorrow afternoon she would be waiting in the woods. If he wanted to avoid another touchy-feely episode, their best shot was now, when she might be elsewhere.

And here he was again, following the cat into the dark woods in the wee hours of the night, where someone might be waiting for him. He felt twelve years old again, and all shuddery with it. He'd been enjoying not thinking about those memories for the last few years.

But…Coraline was out there, somewhere. His crazy, bossy, mouthy best friend. He would rather lose her ten times over to ten different distant colleges than spend another night not knowing whether she was safe.

If there was even a chance of finding her, he had to try.

* * *

The cat had definitely gone off somewhere. She'd called and called, after the light from the hole in the lid had turned sunset orange and faded away, and it had no reason at the moment to give her the silent treatment.

Coraline let her head fall back to rest against the muddy wall, staring up into the dark. No cat. No light. No help. Her leg was aching again, right through the numbness from the cold, in a steady throb that followed the beat of her heart. And she was hungry. Her stomach felt like it was trying to digest her ribs.

"Oh, god," she muttered, through chattering teeth. How long did it take to starve to death? What were the signs of going into shock? Which one killed you faster? Picking up that rock and dropping it on her own head was starting to sound more appealing…

A vivid image of the ridiculousness of trying to bludgeon herself unconscious with a rock she could barely lift bloomed in Coraline's mind, and suddenly she was laughing. The motion made her leg hurt worse, but at least it was laughter.

"Okay," she managed finally, wiping tears from her eyes and sitting up. "Okay. This is the stupidest way to die, ever, and I am _not _giving up yet." The Misses, for two, would never forgive her if she shuffled off her mortal coil in such an undramatic location as a dirty hole in the ground.

Anyway, she was still alive, and she could still yell at the top of her lungs. Those were the important things. Just this once, considering the situation, she was going to have to keep learning patience.

_Take comfort in this, Miss. Thou art yet living._

Coraline took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and settled the damp sweater a little more closely around her. At least she knew what time it was. Time to get some sleep. She could listen for passersby again in the morning.

* * *

The woods were dark, and the ground was treacherous with old branches, half hidden by leaf litter. Wybie picked his way along carefully, following the steady patting sound of the cat's paws on the wet leaves. He wasn't sure where exactly it was leading him in the dark, other than downhill and in the general direction of the Pink Palace, and his ears were straining at every small sound from behind every tree. At least the rain had slacked off.

"So, uh…" he tried, pitching his voice in a low whisper. "Where are we going?"

The cat made no response. It just kept trotting resolutely along.

"Is it…" Wybie glanced nervously to each side, then jogged a little to close the gap and leaned down. "Is she in the woods, or what?"

One of its ears flicked, but it didn't stop or look back. Wybie grimaced.

"Look, could we just work together on this?" he asked, holding out his gloved hands. "If we—whoaa-!"

One of his feet landed on the remnants of a log, and popped right through the rotten bark. Wybie pitched forward, his momentum dragging his tangled shoe loose, and somersaulted head over heels down the branch-littered slope.

The cat flattened its ears, cringing flat against the earth as Wybie's yelps echoed through the trees.

"Oww—!"

It gave its head a shake, and loped off down the hill, leaping gracefully over the various branches and stones that had greeted Wybie more forcefully on the way down. Finding him prying his muddy cheek off the ground, it gave his chin a quick lick.

"Reflexes of a cat, that's me," Wybie muttered, dizzily, and ruffled his old friend's ears. "I can't help it if I have the eyes of a human…hey, where are you going?"

Having wriggled out from under the caress, the cat trotted off again, circling around to the other side of…

…the old well. Wybie blinked, reorienting himself to the world. So that meant the Palace was behind them, up the hill. And somewhere in the woods ahead of him…

The cat meowed, insistently, and Wybie looked back at the well.

"Oh, no," he said. "No way. I already checked."

The cat put its ears back and hissed at him.

"Okay, okay!" Hesitantly, he edged over to it and bent to rap the lid with his knuckles: once, twice, three times. "Hello? Jonesy? Anybody?" he called.

There was no response. "See?" he said. "I told you, there's no—"

"…Wybie?"

It was the faintest echo, wobbly and incredulous, from the very bottom of the deep hole. But the owner of the voice was unmistakable. Wybie's mouth dropped open.

"_Jonesy?_" He fell to his knees, putting his ear to the weather-beaten wood. "Jonesy, is that you?"

"Wybie!" She sounded on the verge of tears of relief. A massive, days-old bubble of tension burst in Wybie's chest.

"Oh, my god," he muttered. "Hang on, I'll get it open for you!" He scrambled off the lid, looking around for something to pry up the lid.

The cat mewed, and he turned to see it waiting by a broken tree trunk at the edge of the clearing, with its front paws braced on a splintered branch, watching him.

"That'll work," Wybie said, and ran to grab it. Seconds later, he was levering up the lid in a shower of dust and pebbles. Somewhere far below in the shadowy darkness, he could hear Coraline coughing. "Are you okay?"

"Oh, yeah, I'm fine," came the wobbly, tired voice. "Just starving and freezing and I think my leg's broken, but other than that, it's a real tea party down here. What do you _think?"_

"Sorry," Wybie called back. If she could still snark, then she was probably going to be all right—

"Wait, _what?" _He grabbed the edge of the well, trying to stare down into the depths. "You broke your leg?"

"I think I'm lucky it was the only thing that broke." There was nothing visible down there. Even the walls of the well were swallowed up by thick black shadows a few feet down, but he could hear her breathing. "God, I'm so glad you're here," she burst out suddenly, almost tearfully. "I kept hearing your bike going by, and…and I shouted, but you never stopped…"

"Yes, I did!" he protested, "I called down the well and…" This wasn't helping. Wybie took a deep breath. "I'm gonna go get your parents," he said, and dashed off up the hill. "Stay there!"

The open well sat quietly under the night sky. The cat stalked over and settled itself by the edge, standing guard.

"Yeah," Coraline said, ruefully. "I'll just do that."

* * *

Pouring on all the speed he possessed, Wybie burst up over the crest of the hill, swatting dry grass out of his way, and stumbled to a stop. He stared up at the Pink Palace in dismay.

The windows were dark. Not a single light was on.

"Oh, come on," he groaned, and sprinted through the garden, skipping the flagstones two and three at a time. "Come on, come on…"

His heavy boots thumped hollowly on the porch as he ran up the steps. He gave the doorbell a push, then another—knocked on the door—rattled the knob. No one came. Wybie squinted at the door and realized the taped-up note was new. He grabbed it and held it close enough to read in the dim light.

_Out searching. Mel and Charlie_

"Dammit," Wybie muttered. He knew the feeling of being unable to sleep, of itching to get out and do something, but it couldn't be much past four in the morning. Had they been out all night, or just gotten up that early?

He dropped the note and dashed up the stairs to the attic apartment. The paper fluttered down and landed on the mat.

The Bobinskys' door was locked, too, no matter how he pounded on it.

Already guessing what he'd find, he hopscotched down the stairs to the Misses' apartment. A few dogs barked from inside when he knocked, but no one came to the door. If the ladies were at home asleep, they evidently couldn't hear the racket. If not…

Wybie stopped and doubled over, bracing his hands on his knees and breathing hard. "Well, great," he muttered. "Now what? Think, Wybie, think…"

* * *

It was amazing, how precious a round patch of sky could be after so much darkness. Coraline couldn't stop staring at her own hands, softly illuminated in the blue moonlight. It was so good to see _anything _again…

"Hey," came a call from above, and something splashed into the water. She gave a start, and looked up to see Wybie's shadow among the stars. "Can you reach that?"

She fumbled for it with numb fingers.

"A garden hose?" she said, staring at the thing in her hands. "What am I supposed to do with a garden hose?"

"I don't know, climb it?" came the echoing voice.

Coraline felt a deep, growling frustration boiling up inside her, fueled by days of pain. "What part of 'broke my leg' didn't you get the first time?" she snapped. "I can't climb anything! I can barely stand up!"

For a moment, all she could hear was the soft lapping of the water around her.

"Alright, I'm pulling it back up," came Wybie's voice, somewhat abashed.

She let go, and watched the nozzle bounce its way up the walls and out of sight. "Can't you get anybody _serious _to help?" she shouted.

"I am serious!" Wybie protested, leaning into view again. "And nobody's home, I tried all the doors and they're locked! I think they're downtown somewhere, looking for you!"

"Wonderful," Coraline muttered, and rested her chin on her arms for a moment. So close, and so far away…

Something was bumping its way down the wall over her head. Coraline looked up, and held out her hands just in time for a broken length of tree branch to descend into them. The garden hose was tied around it in a sturdy-looking triple knot.

"Uh…you sent me a stick?"

Wybie was peering down at her again, stars twinkling behind him like a halo. "Sit on it," he said.

"Excuse me?"

"Like a swing," he explained. "Sit on the branch, put one leg on either side of the hose, and hold on tight. Then I can pull you up."

Coraline raised both eyebrows. "Seriously? You can do that?"

"Hey, all muscle, remember?" Wybie said. She couldn't see his face very well, but she suspected that he was grinning. "I haven't been hauling around tires all year for nothing. Well?"

She pondered, but only for a few seconds. Now that the surface was attainable, the well felt twice as dark and claustrophobic.

"All right," she said, and began carefully working her good leg under her. "Ah—! Dammit!"

"What? What's wrong?"

"Leg," she said, tightly through her teeth. "Hurts."

"M-maybe we should wait until somebody comes home." From the sound of his voice, Coraline would have bet money that Wybie was wringing his hands nervously, looking over his shoulder for a better idea. The familiar image made her smile.

"Oh, no, you don't," she called, settling the branch firmly under her. "I want out of here, _yesterday_."

"Jonesy—"

"Are you gonna worry all day, or are you gonna start pulling?" she snapped.

With a sudden jerk, she rose a few feet into the air, then stopped, swinging slightly. Coraline gulped, holding on tight.

"Wybie?" she called, and heard a grunt.

"Hang on!" he said, sounding strained. The hose wobbled and jerked, bouncing her gently in midair. Coraline tried very hard not to think about what it would feel like to fall on her broken leg again.

"What are you doing?"

"Bracing it around the—hrrgh!" She was suddenly hauled up another foot, and squawked with surprise. "Around the tree trunk!" Wybie finished. "I don't wanna drop you!"

"What happened to being all muscle?"

"You weigh a little more than a tire," Wybie grunted, digging in the heels of his boots for traction. Spare hose coiled at his feet as he pulled.

"Almost there!" Coraline called, at the same moment that he felt the drag on the hose alter slightly—and then, a pale, muddy hand grabbed the edge of the well.

Wybie gritted his teeth and heaved with all his might, as Coraline pulled herself up. She burst back into the world like a cork out of a bottle, landing on her stomach with a pained 'oof'.

"Jonesy!" Wybie cried, and tossed the hose aside, falling to his knees next to her. "Are you okay?" His hands hovered over her, afraid to touch her, even to check for injuries.

Coraline quickly levered herself up on one elbow. Her face was streaked with mud, and her teeth were gritted in a white slice through the layers of dirt. He had never seen her look such a mess, or so angry.

"Where is it?" she demanded, clenching her jaw.

Wybie was still trying to decide whether he should risk turning her over. "Oh, no," he said, spotting her leg. It wasn't an immediately obvious break, but squinting closer, he figured no human leg should bend at quite that angle. "Oh, geez, you really broke it…what do we do?"

"Where _is _it, Wybie?" Coraline repeated. She was looking right and left now, frantically, apprehensively.

"Where's what?" Wybie leaned a little closer, trying to get a good look at her pupils to see if they were both the same size. "Did you hit your head on the way down? Because I heard if you—"

"There's a _thing_ up here!" Coraline snapped. "I think it was walking on the well, and the cat says it's dangerous—"

"The cat?" Wybie wondered if he ought to speak in clear syllables that a person with head trauma could understand. "Uh…the cat can talk now? I mean, I know it's really smart for a cat, but I don't think—"

"Well, no, it didn't _say _anything, but…"

Wybie frowned, bemused, and looked about to say something diplomatic. A furious light flared up in Coraline's eyes, and she reached up and grabbed his sleeve, leveling a glare at him.

"Don't. You. Dare. You _do_ remember what happened the last time you didn't trust me on something like this?" She shot a dark look at the well behind them, and Wybie gulped.

"I…"

"Wybie," she said, low and urgent. "I was down there. The hand and the key…they're _gone."_

"They _what?!" _His eyes went so wide that she could see the hazel flecks in them, even in the dark. Wybie flinched back from the edge of the well, taking a nervous step towards the woods, away from the well and the house. "You mean, all the bits we broke…?"

"All of them," Coraline agreed. She'd had more than enough time to search. "There's just the rock, and my old blanket. What's left of it."

"But…" Wybie bit his lip. "What does that even mean?"

Coraline let out an exasperated growl. "I don't know, you're the one who's been wandering all over the neighborhood with some weird thing that keeps teasing the cat! For all I know, it's probably what pulled me down there in the first place!"

"Wait, wait." Sudden, dark ideas were dawning on Wybie; ideas that he didn't like at all. "You mean…you mean the other you?"

Coraline gave him an odd look. "What?"

The cat screamed.

It was a terrible, high-pitched yowl of warning, bursting from its throat as all its fur suddenly stood on end. Its wide blue eyes were focused on the darkness between the trees; Coraline and Wybie looked quickly in that direction, as one, their heads turning—

A slim shape detached itself from the shadows. Coraline squinted, confusion turning to disbelief, then to dismay.

"No way…"

The other Coraline smiled. Moonlight played on her skin, turning it pale blue. One measured step at a time, she moved towards them.

"Wybie, who's this?" she asked, in the sweetest tones that Coraline's voice could muster.

Coraline's jaw dropped.

"There's….another me? How did—I mean—when—?"

The other Coraline stopped several paces away, staring at them; the girl in muddy pajamas, sprawled on the ground; the boy in a patchworked old hoodie, standing nervously beside her; both of them as tense as spooked deer. Her button eyes glittered in the dark.

"A better you," she corrected her, softly.

Coraline's fists clenched. "Excuse me?! You're not me, you're a fake! A…a button-faced freak!" She pointed a finger at her doppelganger. "Wybie, tell her!"

"I, uh…" Wybie gulped, then nodded. "Yeah," he agreed. "What she said."

One of the other Coraline's slim hands flew to her heart. "How could you," she whispered. Had her fingers always been so thin? Wybie couldn't remember. She took a step forward, reaching out to him, and he blinked. Was she getting…taller? "Take it back."

A nasty, seasick feeling was rising in Coraline's stomach.

"No!" Wybie felt a little flare of anger. How had she known to come here? Had she heard their voices? "I wasted so much time running around the woods with you, and she was right here the whole time!" Another horrible thought occurred. "You knew, didn't you!"

The other Coraline was reaching out with both hands now, walking slowly, like someone soothing an unpredictable animal. Her face seemed thinner in the moonlight.

"Take it back, Wybie," she pleaded.

"You did know!" Somehow, the strongest emotion he felt was shame. Wybie gritted his teeth. "I trusted you, and you—you—!"

"Why are you afraid?" Her button eyes glinted black against her pale skin. Wybie gulped.

"What, seriously? Uh, for starters—"

"Don't you love me?"

Wybie's startled squawk was nearly drowned out by Coraline's.

"What?"

"What?!" Coraline stared at her friend; he wouldn't meet her eyes, but she could read plenty from his suddenly hunched, guilty posture. "Wybie, what the hell did you _do?"_

"I didn't do anything!" Wybie protested, making a mortified gesture with both hands. "She just came up to me and—"

Something was making a soft, crackling noise, but Coraline hardly noticed. Her mouth had dropped open. "Oh, my god," she said. "You _did _do something! You…you got _up _to something with my creepy other me!"

"It wasn't my idea!" Wybie said. "Jonesy, listen—"

"I don't _believe _this—"

The cat squalled again, backing a step away from them, then another, its ears laid flat. Both of them shut up and looked where it was looking—and gulped, hard.

What had been the other Coraline reached up and gave her head a little twist to the side. Something in her long, graceful neck clicked. A few delicate flakes of chitin split away and fluttered to the ground as she beetled up a last inch or two in height and smiled, chalk-white lips splitting open to reveal neat rows of teeth.

"You know I love you, Wybie," the newborn thing crooned, and reached out its bone-thin arms with its needle fingers spread wide.

Wybie let out a yell of terror. Turning to bolt, he nearly tripped over his own oversized boots, stumbling forward with his hands outflung as if to catch himself—and with a swift ripple of black-plated legs, the beldam was there before him, both arms grabbing him around the waist and hoisting him up into the air like a child.

"Jonesy! Help!" he screamed, kicking and flailing. As the beldam turned, Coraline caught a confused glimpse of his face, wide eyes terrified—

"No!" she screamed back, reaching out an arm as if she could catch his outstretched hand—

Towering over the well and the helpless girl, the beldam tucked the struggling boy under its arm like a package, then rushed away up the path towards the house, crouching low to the ground with its many legs leaping over each other at a horrible speed.

"Wybie!" Coraline cried, and tried to leap to her feet and follow them. A thunderclap of pain slammed through what felt like her entire body…

The next thing she knew, she was curled on the cold ground, clutching her leg, with tears brimming in her tightly-shut eyes. Something small and rough lapped at the saltwater on her cheek. She gasped a breath, opened her eyes and looked around frantically. The clearing was empty, except for her and the cat.

"Wybie?"she shouted, desperately, pointlessly. _"Wybie!"_

There was no answer but the sigh of the wind in the pines.

"Oh, god," Coraline whispered, and began to cry.

-


	6. Chapter 5

**Another Coraline**_  
a fanfiction_

**Chapter 5**

By the time she had dragged herself up the last few steps to the front porch, leaning heavily on her improvised crutch, Coraline wanted to throw the branch in the fireplace. She wanted her broken bones to stop aching. She wanted to curl up and sleep for a week, and never think about anything dark or dirty or horrible with too many legs again.

The front door was unlocked and hanging open, swinging slightly in the night breeze. Coraline sniffed once, made a few swipes at her cheeks with her filthy pajama cuff, and sank down by the umbrella stand.

The cat leaped up the steps and trotted around her, looking at her with calm blue eyes.

"What am I supposed to do?" she mumbled. Her head felt clogged with tears and pain.

The cat blinked, then turned and squeezed through the open door. Coraline watched its skinny tail vanish with a flick.

A few minutes later, it was back, dragging a tea towel. It draped it across her leg and sat back on its haunches, watching her.

Coraline stared at the towel's familiar cotton print. She'd used this one, or another like it, to help her father dry the dishes just a few days ago. The sunny memory of joking and passing wet plates back and forth in the kitchen warmed her a little, and the thought of the kitchen made her withered stomach grumble.

"Right," she said, and picked up the towel. After some struggle, tearing at the edge of it with her teeth, the old cotton gave. She got a good hold on two corners and ripped it cleanly down the middle, then reached for one of the walking sticks in the umbrella stand. Splinting bones hadn't been covered in their first aid unit in health class, but anything had to be better than trying to walk on an unsupported broken leg.

She couldn't stay on the porch forever. Not while Wybie was waiting.

Pulling the knots tight on the towel made her see stars, but she managed, somehow, and got to her feet with care. The makeshift splint held her broken bones steady, and another old walking stick from the umbrella stand made for a better crutch than the poor branch.

Carefully, she hobbled her way into the kitchen, not bothering to switch on the lights. Her insides felt quivery and tied in knots, but she still wanted _something _like food. It seemed like a bad idea to face an ancient evil on an empty stomach.

The cat followed at her heels as she poured herself a glass of milk, but had the sense not to try to weave its body around her legs. She poured a little milk into an old plastic yogurt lid and put it on the table. The cat eagerly leapt up and began to lap at it.

Coraline sank into a chair with a sigh and sipped her own milk. She'd never been quite so grateful for a drink; she'd been as thirsty as she'd been hungry, and finally having something in her stomach was energizing. She sat up a little straighter, ignoring her aches as best she could.

"Think, think," she muttered, staring into the contents of her glass.

The thing that had taken Wybie was familiar. It had looked like..._her__. _Their old enemy. But when Coraline forced herself to remember her fleeting glimpses of it, there were dozens of differences. She thought this beldam had seemed smaller than the one she remembered, though it was hard to be sure. Its blackened shell glinted deep green, like old glass on the seashore, and its face was rounder, less harsh. They were both bony and dreadful, but where the creature she'd faced long ago had been a horrible parody of an old woman, this one reminded her more of a malnourished child. The only identical point she could remember was their hands.

She knew a monster when she saw one. But this one was new.

"What does a beldam do?" Coraline asked the dark kitchen, thinking aloud, then answered her own question immediately. "She lures people away. How does she lure them away? She pretends to be what she thinks they want."

Coraline paused, and swallowed a gulp of milk, wrestling with the implications of that. "How does she know what you want?" she asked, and thought back to the blackening, curling fabric of an old doll in the fireplace grate.

"She listens," she murmured, and shivered. How many years had that thing been down there in the dark and the wet, growing, waiting?

"What does a beldam want?"

The cat sat up on its scrawny haunches and gave her a patient look. Coraline felt a jolt of cold in the pit of her stomach as she remembered a long-ago conversation.

"Something to love," she whispered, "and something to eat. Oh, Wybie…"

Her fingers curled tightly around the cup. She shut her eyes, feeling terribly small, and terribly lost among the shadows of the kitchen. If it hadn't been Wybie, it would have been someone else. It _would _be someone else, eventually. Maybe even the Little B, she realized, with a fresh surge of dread. There was no doubt in her mind where her friend had been taken. No child was safe in the Pink Palace, now.

Quietly, the cat bent its head and began lapping at its milk again. It seemed to think she just needed some good solid ignoring until she got her common sense screwed back in. Coraline blinked at the everyday sound, and lifted her chin.

She thought, hard, sifting over rotting cloth and silver needles in her mind.

How long _had _this beldam been waiting?

Not as long as the last one. Not by a long shot.

"I'm going after them," she said to the cat and the waiting shadows.

The cat looked up, milk dripping from its whiskers, and gave a quizzical _prrow?_

"Well," said Coraline, shrugging the shoulder that hurt the least. "I have to. He's not getting himself out, is he?"

The cat made a sound almost like a human laugh. Coraline cracked a smile, and reached for the cane again.

She was out of the well and back on her feet. It was time for this beldam to find out just who it was dealing with.

* * *

Preparation, Coraline remembered, was key. She would have liked another finding-stone or a heavier stick or even her old academy cap, but the cap was gone, the cane was as heavy a stick as she felt capable of wielding, and the Misses' stone had been in ashes for seven years.

Instead, she washed her face and hands at the kitchen sink. By the time she'd finished rinsing away the caked grime with plenty of hot water and soap, she felt reborn. Even her leg seemed to hurt a little less when the washrag finally squeaked over clean skin.

Another dishtowel, torn in half, to reinforce her makeshift splint. A quick rummage through the kitchen cupboards to find the old clasp knife her father used to get the corks out of wine bottles; she tucked it into the pocket of her pajamas. A last swig of milk.

Carefully, Coraline combed her fingers through her short, tangled hair and pulled it back with an elastic. She squared her shoulders, and faced the door to the hallway.

"Ready?" she said, not taking her eyes from the living room door.

The cat trotted up next to her, looking at her with vast, uneasy feline eyes.

Coraline wrinkled her nose. "Well, I am," she said, and hobbled resolutely down the hall.

The door to the living room was open a crack. Coraline nudged it a little further open and peered through. The room was dark and empty. Patches of moonlight from the windows lay across the carpet.

Slowly, she pushed open the door and limped inside, looking left and right.

And there it was. The little door.

Coraline shivered. For seven years she'd lived around it, walked past it, shared a house with it, but she'd never gotten quite comfortable with it. And that was when she thought she'd never have to crawl through it again.

Clumsily, she knelt in front of it. Her leg twinged horribly as she settled herself. For a moment, Coraline wondered if this was a fool's errand. She had no help, few weapons, and only the shadow of a plan. She couldn't even decide her own future; how was she going to save someone else's?

Something caught her eye: something black. She bent and pulled it loose from the keyhole, turning it over in the palm of her hand. There was only one key like this, button-handled and still shiny with perfect black paint after seven years at the bottom of a well. A little rotted string still clung to one of the holes in the button.

"The key," she whispered. "She left the key. She _forgot _it in the door."

A light kindled in her eyes. The plan she'd built on guesswork suddenly had a fighting chance. Coraline shoved the key into her sock for safekeeping, then glanced over her shoulder. The cat was still lingering in the hallway.

"Not coming?" she said.

The cat shook itself nose to tail until its ears flapped, as if it couldn't believe its own recklessness, then trotted across the floor. Coraline gently scratched its head.

"Good kitty," she said, and turned back to the door, curling her fingers under the edge of it. She took a deep breath. "Wish me luck," she said, and pulled it open.

A soft flutter of stale air blew her hair gently around her face. Coraline squinted inside, then gasped as her vision adjusted.

The tunnel unfurled before her eyes, stretching away into the distance…but it was not as she remembered it. There were no bright colors anymore, no scattered toys or fragments of sewing needles. The walls were dusty brown and tattered, like the dead skin of something left out to dry, plastered with cobwebs. The torn, wispy edges moved softly in the wake of the tunnel's opening. They reminded her of so many beckoning hands.

Coraline swallowed hard, and crawled through the door.

The cat bounded in after her, picking its paws up gingerly. Scraps of cobweb floated from its claws with every step. Coraline made a face that was half pain, half disgust at the dirt and clots of grayish webbing she could feel catching in her hair. Either the tunnel had collapsed somewhat over the years, or she had gotten bigger than she'd realized. It was probably a little of both.

"You know, most humans manage to improve their grasp of common sense in seven years' time."

The voice was dry, cool, and deeply familiar. Coraline jumped, startled. A smile spread across her face.

"And most cats age," she shot back, peering through the dim light at her companion.

"Is there any point in pointing out the trap you're revisiting?" it asked, narrowing its blue eyes up at her. "I couldn't stop you before."

"No," Coraline admitted, as calmly as she could with her heart pounding in her ears. The floor felt like stretched, ancient leather under her fingertips. It seemed on the verge of bursting with her weight. She shuddered, wondering what lay outside, and kept crawling, trying not to forget about the cool metal of the key, tucked in her sock like a talisman. "But I do have one major advantage this time."

"And what, pray tell, is that?" the cat asked.

Coraline grinned, mirthlessly. "I've done this before," she said. "And she hasn't."

The cat considered that. "Fair," it admitted. "But if you were planning on playing cat-apult again, you're in for a disappointment. There's nowhere left over there for a cat to go."

She laughed. "I think I'll be okay on my own."

"If you say so," it said, sounding a little doubtful.

And then they were at the other end. The little door's twin waited.

"Well, thanks for coming this far," Coraline said, "but I think this is my stop." The cat switched its tail, watching her.

Solemnly, her resolve set, she reached out and gave the door a push. It swung open with a soft, drawn-out creak. Grabbing the frame with both hands, she grunted and pulled herself through into the other world, braced for anything—

And found herself nose to nose with a leering, chalk-white skull.

Coraline shrieked and struck out with her cane, slamming it into the thing's face. There was a hollow popping sound and a series of cracks and creaks, and it collapsed, burying her in its brittle embrace as she screamed and battered at it with both arms.

With a desperate shove, she wrestled the mass of broken, age-whitened chitin off her and managed to sit up, gasping. The little door had been thrown shut behind her in the struggle, and the cat was nowhere to be seen; the cracked skull lay rocking gently at her feet. The shape of it was terribly familiar. She covered her mouth with her hand.

"That's not a skeleton," she whispered. The withered, empty corpse, stretched out on the floor, had only one metallic hand; there were deep, ragged clawmarks in the wood on this side of the door. "It's a _husk._" Coraline gulped. How long did it take a beldam to starve to death?

A faint, plaintive sound caught her ear. Coraline turned to look for the source…and found herself in a room transformed.

She remembered the other Palace, with its cheery paint and homey furnishings, and the other living room, deteriorating and fallen. If she squinted, she could make out a few hints that this place had once been a living room, but only a few fragmented memories of wallpaper and baseboard remained.

The rest was white, endless spiraling streamers of white, like a frozen cyclone, or the inside of a cotton candy machine. White ropy stuff plastered, patched, and became the walls, leaping at sharp angles from plane to plane. There was no up or down to the design of it all, no rhyme or reason. It was a child's scribble of a lair, and it made Coraline's head spin to try and follow the lines of it.

But here and there, gummed among the strands, were…things.

Coraline got cautiously to her feet, stepping over the bones of her old adversary and staring around in confusion. A shiny new dirt bike lay on its side, half-draped in white webbing, and beside it was another, and another, each one a different bright color. Food spilled from gaps in the cocooned walls and piled on the floor in drifts: puffed snacks, cans of cola, brilliant green-frosted toaster tarts. Half a dozen digital cameras hung from a strand of greasy web overhead, like strange metallic fruit; video game disks littered the floor…

"Hello?" Coraline called, her eyes flicking from one spot of color to the next. It was a massive jumble sale of everything a teenaged boy might love, clumsily thrown into being. "Um. Hello?"

Another muffled sound caught her ear. Coraline whirled around, raising her stick to defend herself, but nothing approached. She strained her ears, listening, and heard it again—a strangled whimper, very faint and very miserable.

"Hey!" she exclaimed, looking right and left—and then, from behind a dangling loop of white cord, she saw a tiny movement.

The fingertips of an unmistakable black glove, protruding from the wall.

"Oh, god," Coraline whispered.

There was a soft rustling and clicking from high above and behind her. She turned slowly, knowing all too well what she was going to see.

Jet-black limbs delicately parted the strands of the cocoon overhead, and the many-legged nightmare body of what had been the other Coraline heaved itself through to cling upside-down to the ceiling, glaring at her with its dark hair hanging around its pale face.

"You," said the other Coraline.

"Me," the real Coraline agreed, and planted her feet stubbornly on the sticky floor.

There was a sharp pause.

"You _would _have to show up with an eye to spoiling everything, wouldn't you," the creature said, and clicked away across the ceiling, its long legs rippling like tapping fingers. It pursed its thin lips. "Always ruining everybody's games. _I _know the story. I've been listening in, you know."

Coraline, standing her ground, crossed her arms and said nothing. _I'm not your prey, _she thought, trying to glare back, to be like stone. _Do you even know what to do with what isn't prey?_

The other Coraline scuttled down the wall, stepping carefully over the gloved fingertips. It reached the floor and paused. Its hair had fallen across its face, and the button eyes glared through the dark strands.

"You are so _selfish," _it said. "You don't even want this place, not really. You're leaving it behind, aren't you? Throwing it all away."

A nasty knot rose in Coraline's throat. It was the same horrible question that had been eating at her all this time…

And yet here she was, fighting with all her heart for everything she'd assumed she was about to lose. Her friends. Her home. She loved them all, and they were hers—no matter what.

Coraline swallowed the lump in her throat, and squared her shoulders.

The beldam scowled. "Can't you let me have just one little thing of yours? Waste not, want not. You won't even miss him." Its voice was wheedling, hopeful, but mostly hungry. "I'll look after him—see?" It gestured to the wall behind her, and the gloved fingertips twitched once, grasping at the air.

"—lp!" The cry was strangled behind layers of silk.

_I'm sorry, Wybie, _Coraline thought, desperately. _Forgive me. I'm so sorry._

She took a breath for luck, then twisted her face into a picture of disgust.

"Wait," she said. "You think I came here for him? Why should _I _care what happens to _him?"_

The beldam stared. "He…he is your friend," it said, tentatively.

"Some friend. He's useless," Coraline said, with a little roll of her eyes. "_And_ he's a total baby. Who still goes digging for slugs at nineteen?"

"He got you out of the well," the beldam pointed out, softly, feeling the net for holes.

"Yeah, well, I'm not gonna need him for that again," Coraline said, as harshly as she could. There was a terrible silence from within the wall; the fingers weren't moving anymore. "He was just someone to talk to—and not much good for that, either, seeing as how he _never shuts up_."

She leaned on the words, hoping the old friendly jibe would jog Wybie's memory. She didn't dare give him a clearer clue that something was afoot. The beldam was watching her with unblinking black eyes.

Coraline forged ahead, feeling sick to her stomach. "It's like you said. I'm leaving anyway. Why should I care?"

The beldam tapped its fingernails against its bony upper arms. "But you're here," it pointed out, sounding half suspicious, half confused.

"You threw me down a well," Coraline snapped, and the rage that boiled in the words was quite real. "You left me to _die!" _She gestured around them at the strange, jumbled heaps of gifts. "And now you're down here, spoiling _him _rotten with all of this, and you expect me to just go away and leave you alone?"

Her erstwhile doppleganger's mouth had dropped open, exposing very white teeth. It backed away slightly in the face of Coraline's tirade, on hesitant spidery tiptoe. Coraline pressed the advantage, taking a step forward and angrily jerking her thumb at her own chest with every accusation.

"I'm filthy! I'm exhausted! I'm starving! My leg is broken, and I think you did one of my ribs, too—"

"I don't _want _you here!" The beldam interrupted her in a thin wheedling whine, hunching its shoulders and ducking it chin. In that moment, even as horrible as it was, it reminded Coraline of nothing so much as a sulky child. "Why can't you just go away?"

Now or never.

"Oh, I'll go," Coraline declared, and spread her arms to indicate the heaps of gifts that cluttered the room. "Just gimme some loot of my own, and I'll go away and leave you alone. Forever."

A panicked cry emerged from somewhere deep in the woven wall.

"You _are _selfish," the beldam marveled, delighted.

Coraline smirked. "Guilty as charged."

The beldam tapped one curved needletip lightly against its button eye. "And what do you want? Food? Games? A dirt bike?"

"How about as much of this as I can carry?" Coraline gestured, sweeping the room with one arm.

For a moment, suspicion clouded the beldam's cracked, bony face. Then it tilted its head at her broken leg, and sneered.

"Fine," it said. "Just take what you want and go."

"As much as I can carry?"

"Yes, yes," the creature snapped, impatient. "As much as you can carry."

"You swear it?" Coraline asked, extending a hand as if to shake. "You have to keep your word, you know."

The beldam rolled its eyes. "I swear it on my mother's left hand," it said, and held up one arm, flexing the needle-sharp digits with a cacophony of metallic clicks and chimes. "Now, hurry up and pick what you want!"

Calmly, Coraline pointed at the trapped, gloved hand.

"I want him," she said.

The beldam's smile froze. Its blank eyes bored into Coraline, who held her hand steady, refusing to let her pointing finger waver.

_See what it feels like to fall into somebody else's web, _she thought.

A sharp crack broke the silence, as the beldam rolled its head on its bony neck, as if shaking out a kink. Its button gaze swept over Coraline's trussed and aching leg once more, and it began to laugh.

"This is your plan?" it said. "Really? You must be joking, little girl."

"I'm older than you," Coraline snapped. She edged around the creature, slowly, giving it a wide berth and careful not to take her eyes off it, and plunged her hand into the tangled, angular strands, grasping Wybie's wrist. "C'mon, Wybourne," she muttered, set her teeth, and pulled.

There was a twanging of broken strings, as if someone had sat on a guitar, but the rest of Wybie's hand and arm emerged. Coraline braced herself, grabbed his arm in both hands and yanked again.

"Oww!" Wybie cried, as soon as his face was mostly out of the wall. A handful of persistent, sticky strands were still gummed around his limbs and stuck in his curly hair, refusing to let him go. "Geez, Jonesy, could you be a _little _gentle?"

Ignoring him for the moment, Coraline fished in her pocket for her father's clasp knife and began sawing at the strands. The beldam circled, hovering and watching, its hands quietly wringing and clicking against each other; but it made no move for now.

The last strands securing Wybie's arms snapped, and he began gingerly pulling sticky webbing out of his hair, wincing with each tug as Coraline set to work on his legs.

"Are you crazy?" he hissed, trying not to move his lips. The beldam's gaze pressed down oppressively on them both. "You can't carry me out of here! I barely got _you_ out of the well, and I weigh a lot more than you do, _and _my leg wasn't broken—"

Quickly, Coraline finished off the last few strands and struggled back to her feet, reaching around him to slash at the last remnants of webbing that clung to his back. This close, she could feel his whole body trembling on the verge of a scream. "Shh," she whispered. "It's gonna be okay."

"And even if you do get us out, no way is she letting us go!" Wybie's whisper was high and nervous in her ear, almost hysterical. "Oh, god, my grandma's never gonna know what happened to me…"

The last strand snapped. Coraline folded the sticky knife, dropping it in her pocket. She cradled her friend's face in her hands and briefly pressed her forehead to his. His eyes were panicky. "She's just a baby, Wybie," she whispered. "She's not very smart yet—she left the key in the door. When we get that far, we can lock her in."

"If we get that far," Wybie muttered.

"You're going to have to trust me—"

"Enough whispering!" the beldam snapped. Circling around, it blocked the door with its body for a moment, and then reluctantly stepped aside, clearing the way for them to pass. Its footsteps crunched among the remains of the old beldam, and it crouched low over them, like a newly-molted insect rising from its shell. "If you're going to take him, then take him," it said. "And if he drags himself one inch…"

"I know, I know," Coraline said, and turned her back on her friend, pulling his arms over her shoulders. "Wybie, hold on tight and whatever you do, don't move a muscle. You have to let me carry you."

Wybie gulped. "You can't even walk!"

"I don't have to walk," Coraline said, facing the tiny door. She dropped her cane with a clatter, and knelt, planting her hands on the floor. Her knees took their combined weight without trouble, and she grinned fiercely. "I can crawl."

The beldam hesitated, then started to laugh again. Coraline knew they looked ridiculous, but it didn't matter. If it worked, it worked.

As skinny as he was, Wybie was still a dead weight, and her leg hurt more with every lurching inch of gained ground. Still. Coraline took a deep breath, and lunged forward, throwing all her flagging energy into the struggle, digging her fingers into the sticky mesh of the floor and dragging them both across it as fast as she could. The beldam's laughter faded into an ominous silence.

Wybie's steel-toed boots bounced and slid along behind them, his leggy frame dwarfing hers; she felt him clutching her shoulders, trying not to slide off her back, and gritted her teeth. They were almost to the door…

And then her fingers were gripping the doorframe, and she hauled them through into the battered tunnel, nearly losing her balance as it dipped and swayed under them. Outside the door, the beldam snarled with rage.

Coraline squeezed her eyes shut and kept crawling, bracing herself against the tunnel walls. There was a wild scrabbling of legs behind them, and she felt Wybie's arms tightening around her neck—and then the tunnel itself jerked under her, and she shrieked, tumbling forward and landing hard on her face.

"Crawl, little girl!" The tunnel jerked again and again—the beldam had grabbed the aging framework in both hands and was shaking it wildly. Creaks and groans pierced the air, and little noises like shears through old cloth. Coraline pitched onto her side, struggling to get back to her hands and knees with Wybie clinging to her neck, both of them helpless and rolling in the bucking passageway.

"Oh, god, oh, god," Coraline gasped, watching the thin slice of light up ahead with desperate eyes. She grabbed a handful of what she was pretty sure was wall and dragged herself back onto her stomach for a moment, then kicked out with the wrong leg and screamed, crumpling into an agonized ball. Wybie lost his grip and rolled away with a howl of fright.

"Why aren't you crawling?" came the beldam's shout, mocking, triumphant.

"Wybie!" Coraline shouted, groping for him in the confusion. Dust filled the air; she coughed and spluttered, and wiped at her streaming eyes with her pajama sleeve. "Don't m-move!"

A hand grabbed at her arm. "Just go!" Wybie pleaded; she could see him now, even in the dusty air, nearly nose to nose. "She doesn't want you! Go, now!"

Somewhere in the bitterest depths of Coraline's heart, a boy's hand blew away into nothing.

"No!" she shouted back, tears and dust making muddy tracks on her face. "Dammit, Wybie, _don't move_!"

Wrenching herself over onto her back, she grabbed him under his skinny shoulders and heaved with all her strength, scooting and squirming along on her backside and dragging him along with her like an unwieldy parcel as the tunnel bucked and heaved around them.

Back through the dust clouds and flying scraps of cobweb, she caught a glimpse of the beldam, all of its long limbs dug deep into the walls, its head thrown back in hysterical laughter as it battered the passageway back and forth. Long rips were opening in the fabric of the tunnel, and white nothing shone beyond them. Coraline shuddered and shut her eyes again, pushing hard with her good leg, her arms full of gangly terrified boy—

"You can't get away from me!" cried the beldam, half laughing, half weeping. "I'll follow you anywhere, you hateful selfish girl, I'll come for what's mine—"

And then Coraline looked up and the door was there, swinging with the motion of the tunnel. "Wybie!" she cried, and reached down to fumble in her sock for the key. For a dreadful moment, her fingers slipped, and she had a premonition of the precious object spinning away into empty white space.

But her fingers closed tightly around the iron key, and she breathed a sigh of relief and passed it into Wybie's fingers. "Get it in the door!" she shouted, hoping he could hear her over the racket. "Put it in the lock and _then_ pull me through!"

Wybie's eyes met hers, and he nodded, pulling his knees up to his chest. She cupped her hands around one of his clunky great boots and heaved, and he tumbled out onto the wooden floor of the living room with a squawk and a clatter.

A scream of pure fury exploded from the other end of the tunnel, and Coraline glanced back. The beldam's eyes were fixed on the key in Wybie's hand, and she swarmed up the tunnel in a screaming nightmare of clicking black legs.

"You!" she howled. "You tricked me, you tricked me—"

The tunnel strained for a moment under her flailing weight, then gave up the ghost at last. The middle of it dropped several feet with a crack like a breaking spine, and twisted, splitting and opening up with a terrible drawn-out ripping sound.

The beldam wailed like a panicky baby, clutching and tearing at the fragmenting cloth as it fell out from under her, trying to claw her way back to her own world. There was a hollow sucking and a sound of high wind, and the other door vanished, spinning away; and then the last of the fabric slipped through those sharp silvery fingers, and the beldam gave a last shriek and whirled away after it, away and away into the white nothing.

Cobweb tatters and a few scraps of wood were all that remained of the tunnel, flapping in the vacuum. Coraline hung on tight, but she felt herself starting to slip down the sudden incline. One of her slippers came loose from her kicking foot and was sucked away in a blink…

"Gotcha!" someone shouted. Warm fingers closed around her hands and yanked her up over the doorsill to safety.

Coraline hit the hardwood planks with a gasp like a landed fish. The little door slammed shut behind her, and the roar of the wind fell instantly silent. She rolled over, dazed, and Wybie lunged for the keyhole, fumbling with the key.

It turned in the lock with a soft, final click. And then, before his astonished eyes, it crumbled to pale dust, so fine that it blew away into thin air.

* * *

For a long time, Coraline lay exhausted, breathing in gasps and waiting for her vision to stop spinning. The floor was blessedly solid under her back. If her leg hurt, she couldn't tell anymore; she felt like soup without a bowl, running every which way.

A worried face swam into sight.

"Hey," said Wybie.

"Hey," Coraline managed. She felt a little more solid, looking up at him. Reaching out, she touched his cheek. His skin was warm and real, and she laughed a little, a bubble of joy and relief rising.

"You came after me," he said, sounding somewhat amazed.

"Oh, come on, like I was gonna let her have you," Coraline scoffed. "What do you take me for, Wybourne Lovat?"

"I dunno," Wybie said. "I'm just somebody to talk to."

Coraline stared at him. He stared back, with something hesitant and fragile in his eyes. She gulped.

"You…you thought I meant that?" she said.

"Did you?" he asked.

"Oh, _Wybie_," she said, lost for words, and sat up and pulled him close, hugging him tightly. He made a startled noise, but then she felt his arms wrap around her. His hands were awkward on her back—he didn't seem to know quite where to put them—and his hair tickled her nose.

"I'm sorry I didn't find you faster," he mumbled. "I'm so sorry…"

"It's okay," Coraline said. "I know you tried."

For a long moment, she just held him, listening to their breathing as it slowed back to normal. The house creaked gently, the small sleepy sounds of old carpentry settling. Early dawn light seeped through the curtains, turning everything a watery blue.

Finally, Wybie drew back to look at her in the pale light. "Thanks," he said. He looked a little sheepish. "For coming. You didn't have to."

Coraline smiled. "I dunno," she said. "I'm starting to reconsider a little, here. I mean, I could have had a dirt bike…"

"You're horrible," Wybie said, grinning at her.

"I know," Coraline said, grinning back. "I couldn't just leave you, though." She swallowed, realizing the truth of what she was saying as she said it, and feeling stronger with every word. "You know, I'm not leaving _anything_. Not really. It's not like I'm dying or something. And there's vacations, and Christmas, and…and it's just a few years. And I've got so much stuff to _do _out there_._"

Wybie swallowed. "I know." His grin had faded; he looked awfully lonely again.

"Oh, c'mon," she said, rolling her eyes. "Like I could ever really get away from this place, with its horrible weather, and those horrible beets in the garden, and Dad's horrible cooking, and…" She paused. "And you."

"Geez, thanks, Jonesy," he groaned. She punched him gently on the arm.

"You know what I mean. I'd miss you too much."

He frowned at her, rubbing his arm ruefully. "Well, at least you wouldn't have to put up with all the talking." In that moment he was so himself, sheepish shy looks and bad posture and every inch of him so completely him and safe at last, that she could almost have cried.

"Wybie, without you I wouldn't have anybody to talk to at all," she said, blinking back sudden tears. It wasn't quite true, but in a way it was the truest thing she'd said all day; and she realized with a glimmer of surprise that if she didn't start to cry or otherwise stop herself right now, she was quite probably going to kiss him.

At the same moment, Wybie seemed to realize the same thing. His eyes widened. They looked almost green in the soft morning light.

Outside, there came the faint sound of a car trundling down the driveway, and the moment broke.

Wybie coughed, awkwardly. "Your parents are home," he pointed out.

Coraline nodded. "Yeah."

"They're gonna pitch a fit."

"Probably," she admitted, hoping the fit would involve calling a doctor. Now that the soupy, lost feeling was fading, her leg was not happy about everything she'd put it through.

Car doors slammed outside, and footsteps echoed on the porch.

"The door's open!"

"What on earth—"

"Oh, most happy hour!"

"Charlie, do you think—"

Coraline's heart leapt. She hadn't felt so glad to hear her parents' and her neighbors' voices in years. The chatter swelled in the kitchen where she'd left her sweater and her one remaining boot, excited exclamations tumbling over each other.

The hallway light flicked on, and long shadows crisscrossed the hall carpet. In moments, it would all spill over into the living room, and she had no idea how long the fuss would go on.

Coraline took a deep breath, grabbed a handful of Wybie's hoodie to pull him close enough, and planted a kiss on his cheek. Her heart pounded in her ears.

"Coraline? Are you there?"

She quickly let go and drew back. Wybie looked flabbergasted, but there was a slightly foolish grin on his face. Perfect. Thoroughly pleased with herself, Coraline took a deep breath.

"I'm in here, Mom!" she cried.

The uproar in the kitchen kicked up a notch, and a wave of grownups burst into the room, crying, laughing, scolding, talking, shunting Wybie aside as they exclaimed over the state of her clothes and her hair and oh, Coraline, your poor leg—

"I'm okay," she cried. "It's okay, I'm home…"

Bustle and delight surged around them. Her father was dialing something on his cell phone, squinting at it through tears. The Misses Spink and Forcible bustled about looking for washrags and hot water. The usually formidable Mrs. Bobinsky clung to her husband and rattled off what sounded like a grateful prayer in Russian.

Wrapped in her mother's arms, Coraline rested her chin on her shoulder and sighed happily. A movement by the window caught her eye, and she spotted the cat, seated on the windowsill like a small leftover shadow against the dawning sky. She caught its eye, and winked. It blinked slowly, a grave congratulation; washed one paw across its nose, then leapt off the sill and out of sight.

"Oh, Coraline," her mother said, tearfully, rocking her like a little girl. "Oh, sweetheart."

"I'm okay, Mom," she whispered. "It's gonna be okay."

And she knew in her heart, finally, that it was true.


	7. Epilogue

**Another Coraline**_  
a fanfiction_

**Epilogue  
**

"Are you sure you don't need a hand?"

The residential adviser was giving her a skeptical look again. Coraline figured this was justified, seeing as how she was still on crutches and he'd just lugged five cardboard boxes of her stuff up two flights of stairs for her, but she really did want to unpack for herself. For one thing, she liked to know where things were. And for another, doing stuff for herself was surprisingly fun these days.

"I think I've got it covered from here," she said cheerfully, holding up the gripper claw Wybie had thoughtfully put together for her and clacking its metal fingers together. "But thanks for helping!"

"Sure," he said, blowing a strand of dark hair out of his eyes. He looked kind of relieved. Coraline couldn't blame him for that, either. "But, uh, Caroline?"

"Coraline," she corrected him, automatically.

"Right," he said, and turned to go. "Call me if you want anything, okay? That's my job."

"I'll try not to wear it out," Coraline said, and shut the door behind him with the gripper, just because she could. A two-foot-long metal pole with a claw on the end is a very marvelous toy, even if you aren't in a wheelchair anymore.

Down to business. Books went on the bookshelf, clothes in the cheap plywood dresser, pillows and blankets and her battered old octopus plush on the bed. The heavy new volume of Shakespeare's works would have to stay on the desk until she could use both hands to lift it, but if anyone would understand that problem, the Misses would. She set her parents' photo on top of it, and bent to plant a sheepish kiss on the wooden frame and smile down at them.

She fetched one last, precious object out of the final box, and set it on the desk next to the book and the photograph. Then she shuffled and kicked the empty boxes across the floor and into the closet, and shut the door.

"Well," she said, leaning on her crutches to survey her half of the room and feeling rather pleased with herself. "It hasn't got a windowseat, but I guess it'll have to do."

"Um," said a voice from the doorway. Coraline turned around. There was a girl about her age standing in the hallway, looking in at her.

"Hi," she said, and waved. "You can come in. I don't bite, I swear."

The girl smiled. She had nice eyes, blue and friendly. "You must be Coraline," she said, coming into the room. "I was wondering when you'd get here. I'm Holly."

"Nice to meet you," Coraline said, and put the gripper down to shake hands. The girl raised a curious eyebrow at it, then at the brace on her leg. It had a neon green nylon cover, which Coraline thought was pretty snazzy. Apparently her new roommate agreed.

"What happened to your leg?" she asked.

Coraline grinned. "You're not gonna believe it, but I fell down a well. They had to put a pin in it and everything."

"No way!" The girl's mouth dropped open. "You're joking."

"No, I'm serious," Coraline said. "It took them like three days to find me. It was in the papers and everything."

"Well, then," Holly said, raising one eyebrow. "If it was in the papers…"

Coraline decided that she liked her roommate.

"C'mon, I'm starving. If you help me navigate the doors," she offered, holding up one crutch, "I'll tell you more about it someplace where there are sandwiches. I'm pretty sure I remember where the student union is."

Holly smiled. "Sounds like a deal."

"Awesome," Coraline said, leading the way out the open door. "So, this one night last spring…"

The girls' voices faded off down the hallway, leaving the dorm room to its own comfortable silence. On the desk, next to the photograph, a blue fiberglass cast sat quietly. It had been sliced open and pulled off weeks before, but every inch of it was covered in loopy keepsake scribbles of ink.

Two sprawling show-business signatures. A dozen well-wishes from friends at school. Neat Cyrillic characters, and next to them, an infant's handprint.

A cheerful scrawl: See _you on Turkey Day, Jonesy._

Her parents' familiar handwriting.

And a cat's pawprint in black ink, slightly smeared.

The room was still mostly empty, despite all the things she'd brought with her, awkward and dear and full of love. But they filled it enough for now.

The rest would come, in time.

-_the beginning_-

* * *

_For being a sounding board, a firm disciplinarian, a fellow author and a tireless cheerleader...this fic is for Peter, who midwifed me through the creative process from the story's very hour of conception until the last words were posted._

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

It's been a crazy ride, but it's time to button things up. First and foremost, I apologize for leaving my readers hanging off such an awful cliff for four months. This fic was primarily meant to be uploaded to deviantART, and you can find quite a lot of accompanying art for it (and a download link for the "soundtrack") on my profile there (as TobuIshi). I was so relieved to have posted the final chapter there that I quite literally forgot to get around to doing it here. Still, that's no excuse. The end of chapter 4 was a terrible place to take a break. I just hope the finale was worth the wait for those who were kind enough to stick around!

Special thanks to my hardworking betas here on ff(dot)net: audi katia, StylishEvil, and the inestimable Caturday, who was as tough and as insightful as anyone could ever want. Thanks to my endlessly patient boyfriend, for never raising a word of complaint while I tapped away in Laptop Land, and to all the friends who read the various drafts and gave their advice, particularly Peter, Megan and Cynthia. To anyone I may have forgotten-thank you, and thanks again for putting up with my flakiness.

And of course, thank you to my readers. You've brightened up my days with your responses and reactions to the story. (I'm still waiting to see how many of you catch the little Easter eggs and in-jokes I sprinkled around.) If this story was half as fun to read as it was to write, then I've done my job here.

Cheers, everyone...and when you lock the door on your way out, don't forget to throw away the key.

**-Tobu**


End file.
